


the albatross did follow

by chromeknickers



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, Post Hogwarts AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-18 22:45:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3586809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chromeknickers/pseuds/chromeknickers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Treasure. Secrets and espionage. A mysterious oil painting. Draco Malfoy has gone missing, and Ginny Weasley has been hired to find him. It’s the perfect storm for adventure—one with a dangerous outcome that no one, not even Ginny, could have predicted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. city of bones

_for she did follow him_   
_through the land of fog and mist_   
_and he would wear her like an albatross_   
_hung around his neck_

 

 

It was only in the late hours of evening when he allowed himself to think of her. He’d stand outside into the cold, ignoring the bitter wind that bit at his skin, and picture her face. He’d imagine her pout, her glare or the way her eyes would crinkle as she smiled. When his body became almost too numb to move, he’d head back inside. There he’d sit at his piano and play, her last words resonating through the notes:

_I’ll come back for you._

But she never did. All that remained of her was the fading scent of her perfume upon his pillow. He was alone, again.

* * *

**20 April 2008  
Catacombs of Paris  
Paris, France**

 

They were coming for her.

The wards she set in place earlier had tripped, and her wand vibrated violently in alert. Ginny silenced it with a flick of her wrist while simultaneously casting a Disillusionment Charm over herself. One could never be too cautious.

Camouflaged against a wall of bones, she peeked around the corner and waited. A few seconds later, three shadowy figures descended the spiral stone stairwell. The tallest of the three, broad-shouldered and lean, led the way. His steps were sure but cautious. He held his wand eye-level, the light from its tip illuminating his features: green eyes, a dimpled chin and aquiline nose, dark, wavy hair streaked with silver along the temples, and a thin white scar that cut diagonally across his right eyebrow.

Ginny silently cursed her luck. It was her former partner, Maxwell Higgins; the greedy Curse-Breaker who had betrayed her almost two years ago at in dig in the Valley of the Kings. He had taken off with almost half her treasure, trapped her in a cursed tomb, and had been shadowing her missions ever since.

She was beginning to regret not bringing her apprentice down here with her.

Tightening her grip on her wand, Ginny tried to listen for Higgins’s annoying aristocratic voice. It was hard to tell if any of the men were actually speaking because sound didn’t carry well down here. There were no echoes in the haunted silence of the catacombs, only the distant gurgling of water from a hidden aqueduct nearby. It was enough to give her a semblance of noise cover; however, it worked both ways.

Ginny’s gaze went to the rusted gates that barred her entry to the crumbling tunnel across the way. Before the undergrounds of Paris were constructed into an elaborate ossuary, it had been a limestone mine. Long since abandoned, access to the tunnels was restricted; however, they were shaping up to be her only means of escape without directly confronting Higgins and his henchmen. Apparating wasn’t an option either, not in such a physically restricted and magic-controlled space as this. As for Portkeys—well, she should have nicked one from Gringotts before she left.

She felt inside her pocket and touched the large gem, her well-earned spoils: the Tavernier Blue. After two hours of traversing through the twisting labyrinth of mortared stone and bones and another five hours breaking the curse of La Samaritaine, Ginny would be damned if she was going to give up the diamond so easily. It was her big score, something to write down in the history books. Ginny Weasley, the Curse-Breaker who found the genuine 115 carat Blue Diamond. It had a nice ring to it, if you asked her. And no one, not even a two-faced rat like Higgins, was going to steal it away from her.

Unfortunately, Ginny’s options were limited. It all came down to fight or flight. After making a quick assessment of where she was, where she could go and who she was up against, she choose flight; or strategic escape, to be precise. She would have to brave the hazardous tunnels of the mines.

Without any further thought, Ginny made a break for the gates. Her feet barely touched the floor as she ran. She was a blur of movement, which immediately drew Higgins’s attention, and his wand. He fired a Reductor Spell at her head and missed, exploding a wall of carefully arranged tibia bones.

The other two wizards cursed in French and Higgins held up a hand, signalling for their silence.

“Ginevra darlin’, there’s no need to hide.” He took a careful step forward, wand raised. “Come out and have a chat with your dear, old friend Max. I’m sure we could reach some sort of arrangement for the diamond.”

Ginny ignored his baiting. Instead, she focussed on non-verbally unlocking the gates. They made a rusted, creaking noise as they swung open, like an old screen door in desperate need of oiling. At the sound, Higgins blindly lobbed another Reductor Spell her way, this time hitting the wall just above her head. Bones and dirt came hailing down, dusting her hair and tickling her nose, threatening a sneeze that might give away her location.

“My dear, I could do this all night,” he sing-songed. “Don’t be foolish, Ginevra. You’ve no place to go. You’re outnumbered and outmatched.”

 _Certainly not outwitted_ , she thought smugly, before making a mad dash down the tunnel.

Higgins and his men took off in pursuit.

Ginny broke out into a sprint. She ran even as her muscles seized and her lungs burned. She found a morbid pleasure in the chase. It was thrilling. Maybe it was where she was, deep in the catacombs of Paris, but she couldn’t help but feel history coming alive.

It was said that the treasury of King Charlemagne was once kept down here, protected by curses as powerful as those that guarded the tombs of the Pharaohs. She could almost see it; the light from her wand dancing over the ruins and casting a shimmering illusion of better times, a glowing restoration of its former glory: treasuries overflowing with gold and jewels, legions of statues carved by the finest artisans. But that was no more. Now this place only held bones, darkness and death.

But still... exciting.

Squeezing her way through a broken wall, Ginny found herself in a stone-paved tunnel that she was almost positive led topside to Place Denfert-Rochereau. All she needed to do was avoid any dead-ends, collapsing tunnels and vertical shafts on the way there.

No problem.

She stood perfectly still and held her breath, listening intently to the men’s approaching footfalls. Beams of light from their wands criss-crossed along the ground, creating elongated shadows on the walls. They were so close that she could hear them panting. When she tried to move forward again, there was a loud crunch and she immediately stopped.

Shit!

Hand over her mouth, Ginny dampened her wand and waited. Higgins and his men had stopped, too. They were whispering.

Ginny then looked down at the ground to see what she had stepped on. What little light came from her wand showed that her heel had overturned one of the smooth stones. She stared intently at it and its empty eye sockets stared back.

It was a skull.

She glanced up at the pathway ahead with all its smooth, pale stones that looked exactly alike, and shifted her feet hastily. She couldn’t move without walking on the skulls, and she couldn’t stand still without standing on them. Either way, she was going make a noise.

She could hear the wizards drawing closer to her hiding spot and she snuffed out the light on her wand altogether. What was she to do now? She could hope that they’d pass by or give up, but those scenarios seemed unlikely. She could use a Levitation Charm to pass over the skulls, but the ceilings were low here—so low, in fact, that even someone of her short stature had to crouch. If Higgins were to find her here, she’d be trapped like a lioness in a cage.

Just then, light from several wands pooled through a large crack in the wall. Higgins’s smug face peered through the opening.

“She’s in here!”

Having run out of options, Ginny was about to turn around and meet her adversaries head on when she heard hollow whistling coming from below. She cocked her head to the side and listened carefully, tuning out the grunts of the three wizards trying to squeeze through the opening. The whistling stretched out like a moan and she realised that it was air escaping from a vent shaft nearby.

It was the sound of opportunity.

Relighting her wand, Ginny took off in fast walk, wincing as the skulls cracked beneath her feet. Luckily she was graceful enough that she rarely stumbled, unlike Higgins and his men who had to all but crawl on their hands and knees.

The tunnel eventually widened out and raised in height. Ginny broke out into a full run. She could hear the wizards yelling behind her, drawing nearer. Suddenly narrow bursts of stale air blasted her in the face and she knew that she was close.

Extinguishing the light from her wand, Ginny silently cast Ascendio as she leapt, hovering over the narrow chasm. Once safely landed on the other side, she cast an Uprooting Spell and violently thrust her wand upwards. The floor of skulls lifted beneath the wizards’ feet, picking them up and throwing them forward. Their screams echoed throughout the tunnel as they were unceremoniously tossed into the shaft.

Ginny lit her wand again and shone it down into the shaft. Luckily the crevice was narrow enough to prevent the wizards from plummeting all the way down to their deaths. Still, it was deep enough to trap them and, by the looks of it, break two of the men’s legs. She could hear their moans of pain form below and felt little sympathy.

Higgins, on the other hand, seemed to fare a bit better than his companions, though barely. Instead of rolling around on the ground in agony, he hung limply from the precipice’s edge.

“Weasley!”

His eyes were wide and panicked, and she almost felt bad for him. That feeling of charity, however, vanished when Higgins used what little strength he had left to aim a curse at her. She easily expelled the wand from his hand, watching as the thin piece of wood sailed past his shoulder and fell all the way down the shaft.

“Don’t be foolish, Higgins.” A smug smirk slipped onto Ginny’s features. “I’m afraid you’re outmatched.”

“Weasley!” Higgins struggled to lift himself up, his fingers slipping on the crumbling limestone. “Weasley, I demand you help me up!”

She said nothing; just rolled her eyes at him and walked away.

“Weasley! You’re not going to leave me here!”

“I’ll send someone down to retrieve you shortly,” she quipped over her shoulder. “Do try to hang on. Or don’t. Whatever.”

“Weasley!”

She ignored his cries for help and continued towards the exit. He shouted a few choice profanities at her back before the whistling wind cancelled out his calls.

Silence once more.

Ginny walked for at least ten minutes before she started to feel the damp chill on her skin. She shivered slightly and drew her robes around her. She could hear the gentle pitter-patter of rain from above, or perhaps a storm drain run-off. Up ahead she could see a small pool of light spilling onto the floor and she looked up, spying a narrow set of stairs.

She went up.

After several minutes of climbing, she finally surfaced onto a ledge where she spotted an antiquated ladder leading up to what looked to be a manhole. Ginny climbed again, pausing once to wipe away the droplets of rainwater that dripped onto her face. When she finally reached the end of the ladder, she used her wand to push the heavy storm-drain cover aside and entered what appeared to be some sort of small crypt.

She gave a quick pass of the chamber before locating a magical wall. She tapped it twice with her wand and materialised through. Staggering forward, Ginny turned around and took a few steps back. She looked up. It was a statue: Le Lion de Belfort. She gave a tired laugh of relief and let her head fall back, breathing in the fresh air.

The moon above was full and bright, so bright that she had to look away. Running her fingers through her damp hair, Ginny wiped a wrist across her sweaty forehead and grimaced at the smear of dirt she left behind. She was filthy and in desperate need of a bath. Luckily the few Muggles who were milling about the square were completely oblivious to her dishevelled state.

Dropping her hand, Ginny used a quick Cleansing Charm and transfigured her robes into a Muggle-like jacket before lifting the Disillusionment Charm off herself. She scanned the streets for her apprentice, but the former Slytherin was nowhere to be found. She had been tasked with keeping an eye out for trouble, but Ginny wondered if Higgins had got the drop on her first.

Eventually her keen eyes caught movement near a building on the corner. She spotted a tall brunette with a long, swishing ponytail. She could have easily passed for a Muggle, if not for the fact that she was currently casting an Invisibility Spell on a pair of unconscious men.

Ginny sprinted over. “Tracey, hey!”

Tracey Davis turned towards the redhead, her wand at the ready, when her hazel eyes widened in recognition. She immediately lowered her wand. “Merlin, Ginny! Are you all right?”

“I should be asking you the same question.”

Tracey had the decency to look contrite. “Sorry, I saw Higgins go down and was planning my valiant rescue effort when two of his men came back up the stairs and chased me down the square.” She motioned to the unconscious men. “Had a bit of a showdown, as it were.”

“I can see that,” Ginny drawled. “Good thing you won.” She placed her hands on her hips and heaved a long-suffering sigh at the two wizards. “I suppose we ought to leave them a note about their mates trapped in one of the shafts. They’ll need their own rescue shortly.”

Tracey pulled a face. “Do they really need to be rescued? They did come to filch us, after all. I vote we leave them to rot.”

Ginny tried not to smile as she conjured a piece of parchment and began writing with her wand. “I’ll take your vote into consideration for the next time.”

“There’s that annoying Gryffindor nobility of yours again.” Tracey folded her arms crossly and watched as Ginny set the note on one of the wizard’s laps.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Of course you would.” Tracey dropped her arms and began to smile conspiratorially. “So, did you get the diamond?”

Ginny raised an eyebrow in incredulity. “Did you really have any doubts?”

She fished the blue diamond from her pocket and tossed it to Tracey. The older witch caught it, looking over the flawless gem with awe before wiping the look of admiration off her face.

“Not really,” Tracey said with a shrug. “I’m just always worried that one day you’ll sacrifice the treasure in order to save some poor sod’s life.”

“Slytherins—such humanitarians.”

“We try.” Tracey held the diamond up to the moonlight and examined it. “It is beautiful, isn’t it?” She sighed almost wistfully before tossing it back to Ginny. “Let’s get this back to London before my devious Slytherin traits tempt me to knock you over the head and fence this natural work of art for a kingly sum.”

“Like you could land a blow,” Ginny scoffed, flipping the diamond in her palm. “However, if Gringotts tries to renege on the agreed twenty percent, I’ll be fencing this pretty rock myself.”

Tracey laughed, and Ginny examined the diamond one last time before slipping it into her pocket.

“Now as you say, let’s go home.”

* * *

Several hours later, Ginny was back in London and parting ways with Tracey. The two had delivered the Tavernier Blue to Gringotts and received a substantial commission in return. With nothing else to do for the next few days, Ginny went to her rented room above the Leaky Cauldron, intent on sleeping until hunger pains or the call of nature forced her awake.

She had just passed out, fully clothed with her face buried in a pillow, when there came a series of gentle knocks on her door. She ignored them at first, hoping the knocking was her mind playing tricks on her or that the knocker would eventually go away. However, when the noise only persisted, Ginny swiftly realised that she wasn’t going to get her wish.

Groaning into the pillow, she rolled onto her back and mumbled, “Who is it?”

“It’s your brother.”

She immediately sat up, scrubbing her face in alert. “Which one?”

“Your favourite.”

The corners of her mouth lifted in a smirk. “Charlie?”

There was a pause and then, “Second favourite, then.”

Suppressing a chuckle, Ginny slipped off the bed and padded over to the door. She withdrew her wand from her robes and undid one ward while enforcing another. She was still a Curse-Breaker, after all. There was no way she was going to let her guard down, even if the person on the other side of the door sounded a lot like her brother.

She cast a quick Shield Charm on herself, just in case, and opened the door wide to reveal her eldest brother, Bill. He was standing at the edge of the threshold, his hands in his pockets and looking the same as he did when she’d last seen him three weeks ago: his hair too long, his body too thin and his wardrobe befitting of someone who had just got back from a Shrieking Wyvern’s concert.

Merlin, when had she started thinking like her mother?

“Hullo, baby sis,” he said in that cool, easy-going way of his that was one-hundred percent Bill and entirely enviable.

“Hullo, second favourite brother,” Ginny greeted. “How’s Fleur and the little ones?”

“Healthy, happy and safe.” He smiled.

“Good.” Ginny returned his smile and, after a moment’s pause, twirled her wand in the air. “All right, time to get down to brass tacks. You know the drill, rock star.”

Bill hid his smirk and gave a curt nod in understanding before pulling his hands out of his pockets. Ginny followed his motions carefully as he retrieved his wand from its shoulder holster and held it out to hers. Their wand-tips touched and glowed brightly, verifying each other’s identity.

Satisfied, Ginny lowered her wand and stepped aside, permitting her brother entrance into her humble abode. Bill holstered his wand and walked inside, his dragon-hide boots scrapping along the wooden floor.

“So what brings you here, Bill? Not that I mind the visit.” She shut the door behind him and motioned to the chair next to her bed. “I picked up a lovely bottle of elf wine in Alsace. Care to have a glass?”

She went to her desk and began to rummage around in her travel tote for the bottle.

“No, thanks.” He waved his hand, his expression somewhat grave. “I’m afraid this isn’t a personal visit, Gin.”

“Of course it isn’t.” She sighed, pulling out the wine bottle and setting it on the desk. “What is it, then? Is Ragnok not satisfied with the diamond?”

“No, he’s incredibly impressed with you,” Bill said, as if he expected nothing less. He sat on the edge of her desk and gave her a guarded smile. “This is unrelated business.”

Ginny frowned. Bill was her handler, and a damn fine one at that. He was the one who set up her expeditions and negotiated her pay, but he usually gave her a few days grace between digs. It was a chance for her to catch up on some much needed rest. To assign her a job so soon, only hours after returning, wasn’t typical. It usually meant Gringotts was short a Curse-Breaker.

“Another dig so soon?” She sat down on the bed. “Is someone sick?”

“No illnesses or casualties in the field that I know of.” He paused, absently tracing his fingers over the deep scars on his cheek. “But what I need you for isn’t a dig, Ginny.”

“Oh? What kind of job is it, then?”

“Private work.”

Ginny’s eyebrows all but disappeared into her hairline. “Private work? But my contract with Gringotts forbids moonlighting.”

“Yeah, well, they’re willing to lend you to a mutual client; that is, if you’re willing to accept the case.”

She eyed him carefully. “What exactly will I be doing?”

“I can’t say here, for confidentiality reasons,” he said, looking around. “It’d be best if you heard it from the client himself.”

Ginny folded her arms beneath her breasts. Her brother was acting far too evasive for her liking. “Who’s this mysterious client of yours, Bill? Can you vouch for him? He won’t try to double-cross me, will he?”

A wounded look passed over Bill’s face and vanished just as quickly. “Hey, now, I wouldn’t have recommended the case to you if I thought he’d swindle you, Ginny. Remember, _I_ was the one who didn’t want you working with Higgins.”

Ginny made a non-committal sound at the back of her throat and shrugged.

“I can say that if you find what the client wants, he will be _very_ appreciative.”

“Appreciative, huh?” Ginny’s curiosity was certainly piqued. Appreciative meant handsomely paid. She dropped her arms with a sigh. “All right, fine. But I can’t take the case without knowing what it entails.”

“I don’t expect you to,” he said, “which is why I’m going to take you to meet the client.”

“Take me where?”

“To Malfoy Manor.”

“Malfoy Manor?” Ginny’s eyes rounded wide like saucer plates. “Are you saying the client is—”

“Lucius Malfoy, yes.”

Ginny involuntarily shuddered. Even at the age of twenty-six, she was still affected by that name. She hadn’t thought about him much since Hogwarts, but he had always remained a shadowy figure from her childhood. He was the wizard who had introduced her to Tom Riddle. He was the man who had helped rob her of her innocence and turned her world upside down.

“I know he’s not your favourite person,” Bill said, cutting through her thoughts.

Ginny bristled. Just because she didn’t like the wizard didn’t mean she was afraid of taking on his case. She was bigger than that.

“A client is a client, Bill,” she said sharply. “So when does he want to meet?”

“Now, actually.”

He removed an envelope from his inner jacket pocket and handed it to her. It felt light. She ripped it open and tipped it upside down onto her palm, and out dropped an iron-wrought key.

“What’s this?”

“A Portkey.”

She snorted at the irony of a Portkey being in the form of an actual key. “This isn’t going to drop me off a cliff or into a snake pit, will it?”

“It’d better not, since I’ll be coming with you.” Bill snatched the key from her hand and held it up between them. “It’s activated with a password, so we can leave at any time... You ready?”

She nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

* * *

They arrived at the front gates of Malfoy Manor just as soon as the sun was peeking over the horizon. Pools of pale light spilled across the grounds and over the intricate iron lattice work of the gates, colouring it a burnished gold.

It was beautiful and haunting sight.

Bill handed the Portkey over to Ginny, who took it with a grimace. The key matched the iron-wrought gates and, for a moment, she was tempted to try it in the lock. Instead, she and Bill stepped forward and walked through the gates as if they were a black fog. They materialised through to the other side where they stood in front of a cobbled walkway lined with hedges. Up ahead was the grand mansion itself.

The two began to make their way up the walk when Ginny saw a flash of colour out of the corner of her eye. There was something strutting on the grounds: a peacock. She almost walked over to it when it suddenly bleated a two-beat caw that made her jump. She glanced up at Bill, who was silently laughing, and then down at her forearm pimpling with goosebumps.

A little while later, they reached the monolithic oak doors of Malfoy Manor. They waited. Seconds ticked by and Ginny was about to touch the silver serpent-shaped knocker when one of the doors creaked open. She expected to find a house-elf greeting her; instead it was Lucius Malfoy himself.

She tried her best not to gawk at him, but it was almost impossible. Before Tom Riddle, Lucius was the bogeyman from her childhood nightmares. He hadn’t changed much physically, as far as she could tell. There were a few more deep lines around his eyes and mouth and his hair was longer than she remembered it, more white than the golden blond it had been in his forties, but there was no mistaking who he was.

It had been years since she had last seen him, not since the Battle of Hogwarts. He had been quite the sight then—his hair dishevelled and his face bloodied, unapologetically clutching at his wife and son in the Great Hall. In the aftermath, he had managed to escape incarceration at Azkaban and all but disappeared with his wife from the British wizarding community. Ginny had heard that he had been living somewhere in Germany or Romania, expanding his empire in Eastern Europe and Asia.

“Miss Weasley, I’m glad to see that you accepted my invitation.”

Ginny blinked owlishly at him. For whatever odd reason, she hadn’t expected him to greet her so formally—at least not without scorn. Instead, he seemed somewhat relieved by her presence. Grateful even. Or maybe she was just tired and simply imagining it all.

“Mr Malfoy,” she greeted, wondering if she should extend her hand. She didn’t, and he didn’t offer his.

“Please, come inside,” he said.

He turned, not waiting to see if she and Bill followed, and both eventually ventured inside. The door magically shut behind them and Ginny’s shoulders tensed in anticipation for a moment before relaxing. She glanced about the expansive entrance hall, noting that the interior of the manor was even more visually stunning than the exterior. It was also decidedly less intimidating and less Gothic. Furthermore, the place seemed rather empty. There wasn’t a house-elf in sight.

“You’ll have to excuse the lack of hospitality,” Lucius said, leading them into a drawing room. “I’m only briefly here on business.”

He gestured for the siblings to take a seat on a cream-coloured settee while he went to the bar and poured himself a drink. He offered his guests a glass, but both declined. Drink poured, the Malfoy patriarch took a seat on a chair in front of the fireplace. He glanced over at the empty fire and swirled the amber liquor in the tumbler.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I invited you here.” His dark gaze shifted and fixed heavily upon Ginny. “I need something found, and your services came highly recommended. I’ve been told that you’re the best at what you do; that you always find what you’re after.”

Ginny slowly crossed her legs and placed her hands atop her knees. “That would be an accurate assessment.”

“Ginny just recently came back from an expedition in the catacombs of Paris where she brought back the authentic Tavernier Blue,” Bill said proudly.

Lucius’s gaze returned to the redhead and he subtly inclined his head. “Impressive.” Although he sounded far from it. He seemed distracted.

Ginny cleared her throat. “So what is it that you need me to find for you, Mr Malfoy? Gold? Jewels? Perhaps some rare paintings?”

“No, something far more valuable.” Lucius took a long sip of his drink and looked at her gravely. “Miss Weasley, I need you to find my son.”

* * *


	2. through the looking glass

It was the brush of skin on skin that woke him, setting his every nerve alight. Eyelids sprung open in alert, body coiled ready in anticipation. A moment passed and nothing happened; his body slowly began to unfurl with confused wariness.

He blinked curiously at the ceiling as memories began to unravel on a reel. Memories he couldn’t quite decipher. Then the room seemed to lurch and dip, and reality swiftly came crashing down around him.

He wasn’t home.

Sighing in disappointment, he was about to roll over and go back to sleep when he felt something warm clinging to him. He craned his neck down to see _her_ lying on top of him. Her cheek was pillowed against his shoulder and her dark red hair was fanned out across his neck, tickling his chin. A thin, freckled arm was draped over his chest and he saw that his fingers had somehow tangled with hers, a gesture far too intimate for a man like him to wake up to.

He tried to let go, but she whimpered in her sleep, soft sounds against his skin. He pulled her in closer, as if he could protect her from the dangers of this world, from himself, but he couldn’t. He could only offer her temporarily respite from the storm.

She didn’t wake as he shifted them onto their sides. His chest pressed flush against her back and he draped an arm over her waist. Her fingers somehow found their way back to his, lazily entwining, and this time he didn’t let go.

He couldn’t.

* * *

**20 April 2008  
Malfoy Manor  
Wiltshire, England**

 

Ginny stood in front of the window, admiring the view. The sun was a golden ball of fire rising up to meet a sky as blue as a robin’s egg. A spring breeze had wafted through the countryside, ruffling the leaves on the trees as a flock of geese flew north overhead. Below, the flowering gardens were blossoming with snowdrops, crocuses and daffodils, even tulips. Roses would come in May.

It was a lovely day. A perfect day for broom-riding.

“Will you be okay here without me?”

Bill’s words pulled Ginny from her thoughts and she turned away from the window. Lucius had reconnected the Floo system earlier that morning before cloistering himself in his study. Now Bill was itching to head home to check on his wife and children.

“I’ll be fine, Bill,” she said. “Go home and see your family.”

“I’ll tell Fleur you said hullo.”

He smiled and gave her a one-arm hug before stepping into the fireplace. Seconds later he disappeared into a wave of green flames, and Ginny was left alone.

She turned back to the window, rubbing the bridge of her nose with a sigh. The day was young and it already felt too long. She was hungry and tired, and there was already a nagging headache forming behind her eyes. She wondered if it would be terribly rude of her to go back to the Leaky Cauldron and have a nap before she set out in search of Lucius’s son.

According to the Malfoy patriarch, Draco had been missing for more than two months now. She found it a little hard to believe at first. She had heard nothing of his disappearance, no gossip, no articles in the tabloids. Surely Ron would have told her if he had caught a whiff of the news, especially considering Lucius’s claim that Draco worked for the Ministry.

How could a high-profile wizard like Draco Malfoy disappear without a word, without even a trace? Nothing disappeared without a trace.

Her first thought was that Draco didn’t want to be found. Perhaps he was hiding from his father or society at large. It wasn’t uncommon, especially considering how things had panned out for the Malfoys after the way. However, when Lucius told them that his wife, Narcissa, was in the hospital, Ginny began to have her doubts.

Could Draco be so cold-hearted of a son to avoid his ill mother? An image rose to mind of the blond teenager unabashedly clinging to his mother’s robes in the Great Hall and Ginny quickly dismissed it.

However, if Draco hadn’t purposely run off, where was he? There were no ransom demands and no body had been found. He had simply disappeared. Nothing added up.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting, Miss Weasley.”

Ginny turned to see Lucius standing in the parlour. He had foregone his fancy robes for a simple white dress shirt and black trousers. He was a fit man for his age, built sturdy and broad. His face even still carried the handsome traces of youth; however, he appeared older in the light. There were lines on his face she hadn’t noticed before, dark bags under his eyes that hadn’t been there an hour ago.

He looked tired.

“It’s fine.” Ginny moved away from the window and took a seat on the settee. Lucius had been holed up in his office for nearly an hour on the Floo to a hospital somewhere in France. “How’s your wife?”

“Worried.” He walked over to the bar and poured himself another drink—soda water this time. “Shall we get down to business, then?”

Earlier he’d had her and Bill sign a non-disclosure contract. It was in Malfoy Enterprises’ best interest not to have word leak that one of its CEOs was missing. It demonstrated vulnerability, exposed weaknesses, and did little to assure shareholders of the integrity and security of the business. After all, kidnapping hadn’t entirely been ruled out yet.

“You can negotiate a fee with my brother, Bill,” she said, lacing her fingers over a crossed knee. “I’m afraid I have no mind for Knuts and Galleons. I’d rather talk about your son.”

She politely motioned to a chair for him to sit, and Lucius lifted an eyebrow in what she could only hope was intrigue. For a few seconds he did nothing but stare at her, and Ginny thought she might have overplayed her hand, but then he took a deliberate sip of his water and gracefully manoeuvred around the bar, taking a seat across from the redhead.

“The first thing I must ask is how you can be so sure that Draco worked for the Ministry.”

Lucius inhaled deeply and leaned back into his chair. “I can’t verify it, if that’s what you’re asking, Miss Weasley, but I _know_ my son wouldn’t lie to me.”

“Maybe he wanted to impress you?”

Lucius snorted inelegantly. “By working for a Muggle-loving Ministry? No, I think not. Draco only needed to please me by keeping Malfoy Enterprises afloat in the UK, which he had, up until now.”

Ginny frowned. “Did Draco ever tell you what he did for the Ministry?”

“No, he said it was secret.”

“Is he an Unspeakable?”

“I’d think not,” Lucius said indignantly, before tempering his tone. “No, he made his work sound... dangerous. The only reason I was able to get even that much out of him was because my solicitors had informed me of a living will Draco had written up nearly three months ago.”

“A living will?” Ginny’s curiosity was piqued. “May I see it?”

“Why?” He eyed her suspiciously. “How is it relevant?”

“Because if Draco was in a dangerous line of work and knew something was going to happen to him, he might have left behind clues—clues that can be decoded.”

Lucius seemed to mull over her words for a moment, before inclining his head in assent. “All right. I’ll have a copy sent to your room at the Leaky Cauldron.”

“Thank you.”

Both went silent then. Lucius frowned into his drink while Ginny stared intently at her laced fingers. There was an air of awkwardness between them that had become stifling. A question weighed heavily on Ginny’s mind and she wasn’t sure how to ask it.

“What is it?” Lucius asked impatiently, astutely reading her apprehension.

“Well, I’m afraid there’s something else I must ask you.” She paused and he nodded for her to go on. “Mr Malfoy, how can you be sure that your son’s not... dead?”

She expected an angry reaction from him. Instead, she got a soft smile.

“Because I’d know, Miss Weasley.” When she gave him a peculiar look, he sighed. “Let’s just say that I have the means to know if my son is alive or dead.”

Ginny’s mind briefly flitted to the Weasley Clock. She wondered if Draco’s name was currently in ‘Mortal Peril’. She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Lucius. How could she not? Despite who he was, he was a father trying to find his lost son.

“And before you ask if my son could have just buggered off on his own, I assure you that Draco would never abandon his mother at a time like this.” Lucius took a sip of his drink. “He’d have to be taken away by force.”

Ginny nodded. “So why not turn to the Ministry for help, then? I’m a Curse-Breaker, after all, not an Auror.”

He threw her a disgusted look. “I can’t depend on the Ministry to be competent with an important matter such as this. If Draco does work for them sub rosa, they’d likely be content to let my son languish in a prison cell somewhere or die at the hands of their enemies rather than reveal their secrets.

“I’m hiring you to find my son, Miss Weasley, because you’re known for getting in and out of places very few Curse-Breakers have even had the privilege to visit.”

Ginny’s eyes widened considerably. “You’ve researched me?”

“I’m a businessman,” he said, his nose upturned. “Don’t assume that I haven’t already exhausted every avenue, every possible resource. I’ve been trying to find Draco for two months now. Whoever has my son has him kept somewhere heavily guarded and just as heavily concealed. None of the other investigators I’ve hired have even heard a whisper about him. He’s neither living nor dead. It’s as if my son has disappeared off the face of the earth.”

Lucius went silent then and Ginny kept her eyes downcast. She believed that he had hired the very best, but she still found it hard to fathom that someone could simply vanish from existence. Perhaps Lucius was unaware of all of his son’s dark dealings.

“I realise that you and Draco are not exactly on friendly terms,” Lucius said, clearing his throat somewhat uncomfortably. “That Hogwarts might very well have soured your relations... and that might have been my doing as well.” Ginny’s gaze snapped up to meet his in shock. “But you are my last option, Miss Weasley. Will you take the case?”

She let her gaze fall back to her hands and she licked at her lips in silent contemplation. While she didn’t especially like Lucius, a job was a job; and, truth be told, she had always been a bit of an adventure junky. Okay, a lot of an adventure junky. She lived for challenges like these; intricate puzzles to solve and dangerous mysteries to unravel. Plus, there was always the prestige that came along with accomplishing something that others before her had failed. It was one of the reasons she got into Curse-Breaking in the first place.

“I’ll accept your case on two conditions.” She held up her index and middle finger. “One, I’m given complete access to your son’s flat and any documents concerning him, including the previous investigators’ notes.”

“And the second demand?”

“I’m allowed my own team,” she said. “My brother, Bill, and my apprentice, Tracey Davis.”

Lucius leaned back in his chair and studied her carefully. After a moment, he nodded. “I agree to your terms, Miss Weasley, granted that you meet mine.”

“Which are?”

“Be discreet and keep me updated, _daily_.”

“Agreed.”

Ginny stood up and held out her hand. Lucius looked at it and then at her before slowly standing up. She thought he wouldn’t take it at first, but then his large hand engulfed hers. Surprisingly, his grip was warm and gentle; however, it was a hand that, if clenched, could easily break hers.

She swallowed hard at this thought. She was taking a great leap of faith that Lucius was on the level about his son, and that he wouldn’t crush her with deception like he had when she was a little girl.

“Miss Weasley, bring my son home.”

His head was bent so that they were almost eye-level. Dark grey eyes bored into hers and Ginny tried not to shudder. He didn’t scare her anymore, not like he had when she was a child, but some nightmares were hard to shake, even harder to forget.

Nodding stiffly, Ginny let go of Lucius’s hand and reminded herself not to wipe it along her robes. She was a professional, after all. Family nemesis or not, someone was in trouble, and she wouldn’t be a Weasley if she didn’t try to help.

Minding a modest fee, of course.

* * *

Back in her room at the Leaky Cauldron, Ginny bit into one of Hannah’s homemade Chelsea buns. She let out a moan of pure pleasure as her eyes screwed up into the back of her head. She was feeling much better than she had earlier that morning. The headache was dissipating now that she finally had some food lining her belly. The coffee didn’t hurt, either. She was already fantasising about taking an afternoon nap.

“I don’t know how you can live off this rubbish,” Tracey said, pushing away the plate of sweet rolls.

The former Slytherin had Floo’d over shortly after Ginny had called her. She had been a mite tetchy at being dragged out of her warm bed so early in the morning to take on another case. However, after finding out who had hired her and Ginny, and what for, Tracey’s tune had abruptly changed. At least somewhat.

“It’s either this or starve to death,” Ginny said with a mouthful of pastry. Unfortunately, she never picked up her mother’s talent for cooking. “I’ve gotta take advantage of this quick metabolism before everything goes to pot.”

Tracey rolled her eyes and took a delicate sip of her tea before picking up the Daily Prophet. There was an interesting article about locating an Auror who had gone missing thirty-five years ago. They had found him washed up on a beach in Newfoundland and Labrador, half out of his mind. He was currently being monitored in the Janus Thickey Ward at St Mungo’s.

“Depressing.” Tracey closed the paper with a sigh. “So when are you going to check out Draco’s place?”

“Later this afternoon,” Ginny said in between bites. “Lucius already gave me the key and password.”

“There are no other wards?”

She shook her head. “Just the ownership ward, and Draco’s living will gave his father temporary ownership of his estate and possessions in the event that anything happened to him, including going MIA.”

“How convenient.”

“Mhm.” Ginny sucked her fingers clean. “It makes me believe that Draco knew something was going to happen to him, which is why he was putting his affairs in order.”

Tracey nodded thoughtfully. “So what do you need from me?”

Ginny wiped her mouth with a napkin and pushed back her chair. “I need you to do background checks on everyone.”

“Everyone?”

“Everyone: Draco, Lucius’s business partners, his enemies—”

“That’ll be a long list.”

“I know.” Ginny took a wincing sip of her coffee. It was getting cold. “I also want you to check out Draco’s friends: Zabini, Nott, Parkinson—oh, and those Greengrass girls.”

Tracey tapped the table with her fingers, an unpleasant expression settling on her face. “I’ll see what I can do.”

She looked agitated, and as she stood up to leave, Ginny got up with her.

“What is it, Tracey?”

The brunette slowly turned around. “What do you want me to say, Ginny? These are my friends, too. They might have been spoilt little back-stabbers back in school, but we’re all grown up now, aren’t we? None of them have cause to do Draco any harm.”

Ginny shrugged sympathetically. “I understand your position, Tracey, I do. I’d be brassed off if someone told me to investigate my friends, but this is our job. We’ve got to eliminate all suspects.”

“I’m not brassed off,” Tracey said defensively. “I just don’t see the pieces of the puzzle coming together on this one. However, I’ll admit that this might be my own bias speaking. It won’t stop me from investigating, though.”

Ginny nodded with a smile. “Good.”

“Still, I can’t see any of them being resourceful or intelligent enough to trap someone like Draco. He’s always been a cunning one. More than several steps ahead. The only one to match him would be Theo, I guess, but they’re best mates.”

“Ah, but you know what they say.” Ginny raised a finger. “You keep your friends close.”

“But you keep your enemies closer. Yeah, I know.” Tracey rolled her eyes. “I guess that’s why I hang around you so much.”

“Cheeky bint.”

“I love you, too.”

The two girls shared a giggle before Tracey eyed the door with a sigh.

“Well, I had better get going if you want a report by tonight.”

“I do.”

Tracey let herself out and Ginny stood in the threshold, a hand braced against the frame.

“Be safe,” she told the brunette.

“You too.”

* * *

Several hours later, Ginny sat up in bed with a start. She had slept in.

She threw back the covers and swung her legs out of bed, placing her bare feet on the floor. Her toes curled into the carpet as she yawned, her jaw cracking loudly with the pressure. She had been running on nothing but sugar and caffeine for the past three days, so it was understandable that her intended one hour nap had turned into five.

After a change of robes and quick freshening with her wand, Ginny was set to go. Once downstairs, she was met with Hannah, who handed her a large stack of post: a letter from Bill, informing her that Draco was not employed by the Ministry, at least according to Percy, and the promised documents from Lucius. She leafed through them, finding them to be in order, and had Hannah send them up to her room. She’d read them when she got back. She always preferred to start her investigations as unbiased as possible.

Business in order, Ginny stepped outside onto the pavement only to discover that it was raining. The sun had set behind storm clouds and rain sluiced down Diagon Alley, gently flooding the slopped streets and veiling the buildings in a fine mist.

Flipping up her hood, she Apparated to a quiet spot in Notting Hill. The curious mixture of architecture in this area was intriguing, from its colourful flats and lofty modern towers to its massive cathedrals and fine Victorian homes. She found it somewhat odd and amusing that a Malfoy lived here amongst the Muggles.

Thunder clapped loudly in the distance and Ginny jumped. She was afraid of very few things in life, or so she thought, but thunder storms almost always reverted her back to a childhood state. She’d remember hiding under the covers with Ron, counting the seconds in between the rolls of thunder, listening to the storm getting closer or moving farther away.

The sky was darkening heavily, and the rush-hour traffic was about as unpleasant as it could get. People bumped into Ginny with their large black umbrellas, almost bowling her over. Everyone was in a hurry to get home and out of the rain. Fortunately, she was only a few short blocks from Draco’s place. In fact, she was so distracted with avoiding Muggles that she had almost walked past his large terrace house in Kensington Park Gardens.

Righting her path, Ginny made her way up to the entrance and took out the special key Lucius had given her. It unlocked the door with ease and she pushed it open, cautiously stepping inside with her wand ready. The entrance hall immediately filled with a misty fog and a shrouded figure materialised out of the thin air, floating towards her.

“What would the Chudley Cannons need to do in order to win a game?” it asked it a creepy yet somewhat comical voice.

Ginny’s bottom lip quivered as she tried to bite back a laugh. “They’d need to replace the entire team and down several cauldrons of Felix Felicis,” she answered.

“Password accepted.”

The figure began to fade then, dissipating with fog until the hall looked normal again. Ginny shut the door behind her with a smirk, shaking her head at the password. It was ingenious, really. She’d have to steal it someday, if only to use it on Ron.

After casting a quick Homenum Revelio, and discovering that she was indeed alone, Ginny relaxed her guard and walked further inside the house. She couldn’t help but be impressed. The place was massive, as to be expected, and impeccably furnished. It wasn’t nearly as grand and expansive as Malfoy Manor, but with eight bedrooms, two kitchens, a dining room and sitting room, a staff floor, a terrace pool and sauna with a garden, and even a lift, it wasn’t too shabby. It definitely put her room at the Leaky Cauldron to shame. But then a large enough water closet could do that.

Not wasting any more time gawking, Ginny went straight to work, inspecting every nook and cranny. There was nothing out of order as far as she could tell. The place was immaculate, not a dust ball in sight, which was amazing in itself considering Draco didn’t own any house elves. In fact, the place didn’t look lived in at all.

An hour into her search, Ginny found herself in the master bedroom. Yet another room that appeared untouched. Everything was spotless. Even the bed was made. After combing through the large ensuite bath and the walk-in closet that made her green with envy, she sat down on the king-sized bed with a defeated sigh. She had better luck finding treasure in the long-since plundered tomb of Tutankhamun.

Disappointed, Ginny tapped her wand against her knee. She idly scanned the room until her gaze fell on the bedside cabinet. She crawled across the mattress and plopped herself down on the edge. She tried opening the small drawer, but it was predictably locked. She put her wand in the lock and muttered a few Counter-Lock Spells until she heard the familiar unlocking click.

Inside the drawer Ginny found a small leather journal. A quick sweep with her wand revealed no wards or curses, so she picked it up and settled back down on the bed to read. The printing was neat and small, no cursive. It appeared to be a ledger of some sort, listing several objects. Acquisitions, perhaps? As she read further down the list, the words became familiar and the earlier searing excitement of this mystery came back to Ginny in the shape of a great burden.

It was a list of stolen Dark Artefacts.

She set down the journal with a sigh. So Draco was involved with Dark Artefacts, which meant Dark Wizards. He had become his father, despite seeing first-hand what dark magic did to a wizard. The realist in Ginny had suspected something like this would happen; however, the optimist in her wanted to believe that Draco had changed after Hogwarts, even if only a little. If she found him now, she’d have to turn him into the Ministry.

So much for the money and fame.

Deciding to call it quits for the night, Ginny grabbed the journal and headed downstairs. Turning off lights as she went, she made her way towards the entrance hall when something leaning against the wall near a mahogany console table caught her eye. It was a painting.

She frowned.

Something about it struck her as strange, like why was it half-wrapped and on the floor instead of hung up on the wall? And why hadn’t she seen it when she first came inside? But then she remembered that the hall had been shrouded in a thick fog when she had first bypassed the security ward, so it made sense that she hadn’t seen it.

Setting the journal down on the table top, Ginny crouched down and studied the canvas. It was definitely an oil painting—a painting of couples dancing. The way the frame sat against the wall made it seem like Draco had been in the process of unwrapping it when he became distracted or was called away; so he just left it there beside the hall table, forgotten.

More than half of the canvas was exposed, but Ginny wanted to see more of it. Worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, she tried her best to resist temptation but inevitably failed. Like a child on Christmas morning, she eagerly tore off the rest of the covering.

Now that she got a better look at it, she was glad she had unwrapped it. It was beautiful painting, almost life-like. The realism of it reminded her of a Jack Vettriano painting of a couple dancing on a beach; however, there was more than one couple dancing on this canvas and, instead of the beach, it looked to be in a night club of sorts. There were people drinking and smoking, a few soldiers leaning against the bar as they watched couples dance. At the back was a stage with a golden albatross hanging overheard. Behind it was a brass and strings band, and a black grand piano off to the side.

It was like a dream, a scene painted from someone’s memory.

As Ginny looked closer, she noticed that the colours seemed to glow. The figures almost leapt off the canvas as they stood frozen in mid-swirl, smiles plastered on their faces as the unheard music drifted through the room like filigree curls of smoke. There was lilac and azure, teal and vermilion, silver and gold. Each colour had a life of its own, whether it was in the flowing dresses or the tiles of the floor. Even the black of the men’s dinner jackets appeared to come to life, providing a midnight-blue satin that just ached to be touched.

Ginny’s fingers traced over the gilded frame, dancing along the whorls. Try as she might to look away, her gaze was inevitably drawn back to the sleek black piano. She slid her hand over to the canvas, an index finger poised above the raised ridges. But it was the piano man who drew her attention now. He looked so familiar: the hard leanness of his body, the sharp, angular features of his face and the shock of his white-blond hair.

Draco Malfoy?

No, that wasn’t right.

Something was wrong. Ginny could feel it. Her intense interest in the painting had activated some kind of dark magic. She couldn’t bring herself to turn away. She wasn’t in control anymore.

In her head, Ginny was no longer in Draco’s house. She was imagining herself being twirled around a dance floor, silk skirts swooshing around her legs, the music suffusing her body with waves of pleasure, her arms uplifted around the broad shoulders of some smartly-dressed stranger, or sitting on the lid of the grand piano while the piano man sang a song just for her...

Ginny tried to look away, but the colours were mesmerising, blinding her to anything else in the room, sucking her in with their reality. She didn’t even realise that she had already touched one finger to the dress hem of one of the dancers. The instant she did, the colours began to bleed into her flesh, creeping their way up her index finger, past the first knuckle and onto the second.

Frozen in place, she was transfixed as the colourful hues continued to seep into her hand, her wrist, her forearm, her shoulder. She could feel it spreading like a wildfire across her body, climbing higher and higher. It went from hot to cold, washing over her like a wave, clinging to her skin until she could no longer move, no longer speak. Then there came a jolt, a sickening tug at her navel, and she was pulled into oblivion.

In the blink of an eye, Ginny was gone.

* * *


	3. beyond the sea

There was no going home.

The worst thing was not having a name for what he was feeling. He wasn’t even sure if it was a feeling. It was something bigger, something too huge for his conscious mind to grasp or his subconscious to put into words. So for now he labelled it a feeling—a feeling with no end and no beginning, just a humming buzz of uncertainty.

There was no going home.

* * *

The light was blinding.

Ginny instinctively shut her eyes and lifted a hand to shield herself from the glare. After a moment, she cautiously opened her eyes, blinking away the pinprick of stars that flooded her vision.

Why was it so bright in here?

Someone coughed and, in the quiet stillness of the room, it sounded like a bomb dropping. Ginny dropped her hand and spun around, reaching for her wand as she went. However, instead of a wand, her hand had found purchase on a microphone. It was one of those old-fashioned ones with the brushed nickel plates.

Where the hell was she?

There was another cough; this one louder, closer and distinctly male. She clutched at the stand, brandishing it like a weapon. The lights above were still bright, but her eyes were slowly adjusting. Eventually the stars faded and her vision cleared, filling out the room. She really wished it hadn’t.

Ginny set down the microphone stand with an audible gulp and took a step back. She was standing on a stage somewhere. Before her was a crowd of people. A large crowd. Most of them were sitting at tables, smoking; a few were seated at the bar with drinks in hand. All of them were gazing up at her rapturously.

They were waiting.

Ginny’s mouth gaped open but no words came out, only a screeching, squawking sound. A warble. It sounded like a cat dying. She tried to speak again but with little success. The audience continued to stare up at her, a few even whispered to each other, and Ginny’s mouth snapped shut.

This _had_ to be a dream.

She decided to test that theory by pinching her arm, which seemed to be covered in a long satin glove that ran all the way up to her elbow. The pinch resulted in a jump and a loud yelp of pain. The crowd jumped with her. A few gasped, others laughed and murmured, and so she pinched herself again, just to be sure. But there it was again: that nagging, very real pain.

“Miss Weasley, are you all right?”

Ginny dropped her arm and turned to see a squat and slightly balding gentleman standing on the stairs to the stage. He was looking up at her with a mixture of reverence and nausea and was rubbing his hands nervously.

“I—I think this might be a dream,” she said.

There were a few confused chortles at this and, if possible, the balding man looked even more distraught. The laughter continued to build, some even called her a darling, and Ginny felt the unassailable urge to flee. She closed her eyes and wished for them all to go away.

In that moment, a switch in her mind was flipped on and memories came flooding back to her. Like the crawling sensation as the hues of the paint seeped into her skin; the inexorable tugging at her innards as it drew her forward; the powerlessness she felt when she realised she couldn’t tear herself away...

Her eyelids snapped open.

She was in the painting.

She was in the bloody painting!

“Weasley? Ginny Weasley?”

The audience had gone silent again and Ginny turned in the direction of the band. That voice—she _knew_ that voice. And there he was, sitting at the piano with his finely-boned fingers poised above the ivory keys; his jaw slacked open in surprise.

“Draco Malfoy?”

It was his eyes that gave him away; silver-grey and piercing. They were beautiful eyes, really, if they belonged to anyone else. There was also that signature platinum blond hair of his. It was styled slicked back like it had been in school, but it was wavy now and much longer, almost reaching the nape of his neck.

Draco looked as though he was about to speak again when the balding man stepped onto stage and stood in front of the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m afraid Miss Weasley won’t be performing tonight.”

There was a collective groan of protest from the audience, and Ginny was suddenly being swept off stage by a wide-shouldered brute dressed in a suit and hat. The man was at least twice her size in height and breadth and built like a brick house.

She really hoped he was security.

He handled her gently enough, whisking her away so quickly that her feet barely touched the floor, which was convenient since she didn’t manoeuvre well in high heels. She was shuffled into what looked to be a dressing room where she stood, entranced, in front of the full-length mirror. Her reflection offered a shocking sight.

Ginny’s long auburn hair was perfectly coiffed, the ends curled under with a side-swept fringe that was held in place with a diamond clip. Her face was mask of ivory perfection: wide brown eyes lined in dark kohl, lips painted a glossy ruby red and freckles concealed beneath white powder.

Her breath caught in her throat when she saw the evening gown she was wearing. Navy blue satin sat slightly off her shoulders, clinging to the rest of her body with a sensual grace that left very little to the imagination. Her breasts rose in gentle swells above the sweetheart neckline, her waist made even tinier by the gown’s fine boning. From there it fell in sleek, sweeping folds, an exercise in decadence as the hem just skimmed the floor, hiding the heels she could feel strapped to her feet.

She looked like someone out of a painting—Draco’s painting. Speaking of which, she needed to find a way to ditch her escort and find the piano-playing Malfoy. She was about to formulate a plan when there was a sudden knock on the door.

“Weasley?” There was a pause and then a softer, “Ginny?”

She ignored her bodyguard’s protests and opened the door half-way. Draco stood in the threshold, dressed in a handsome midnight-blue dinner jacket with matching trousers and bow tie. He filled out the suit rather nicely, showing more muscle than she remembered him having in school. His face was fuller too, although he still bore those immaculate cheekbones and sharp nose. Up close, she even noticed that he bore the traces of stubble on his chin.

“Merlin,” Draco breathed, stepping into the room. “I never thought I’d see you here. You’re real, right?” He reached out and curled a miscreant red lock around his finger. “Little Ginny Weasley.”

Silence hung in the air, awkward and thick. Ginny gaped at the blond, unsure of what to say. Then the bodyguard intervened and grabbed Draco by the arm, twisting it behind his back and pinning him roughly against the wall.

“Do _not_ touch Miss Weasley.”

Draco grunted upon impact, and Ginny jumped. Then she quickly collected her wits and tentatively touched the bodyguard’s arm.

“N-no, it’s fine, Mr uh... ?” She had no idea what his name was.

“Yates, mum,” the bodyguard said, still pressing Draco’s face into the wall. “Vincent Yates.”

“Mr Yates, _Vincent_ ,” Ginny said, trying to sound her most charming. “Malfoy—er, Draco here is an old friend of mine. So could you please, uh... let him go?”

Vincent glanced over his shoulder at Ginny and then back to Draco, eyeing the blond suspiciously before eventually letting go. Draco stood back and rubbed at his blotchy pink cheek with a scowl, throwing the bodyguard a nasty glare as he straightened out his jacket.

“See, me an’ Ginny go way back,” Draco said, draping an arm over the redhead’s shoulder. “We went to school together. Isn’t that right, love?”

Ginny smiled tightly, trying her best not to remove Draco’s arm from her shoulder with disgust. “That’s right, _Draco_.”

The bodyguard looked back and forth between the two before taking off his hat and hanging his head sheepishly.

“Ah, I’m terribly sorry, mum. I didn’t know.”

“It’s quite all right,” Ginny said, before motioning to the door. “Do you, uh, mind—?”

He stirred, placing his hat back on his head. “No, not at all. I’ll give you some time to talk with the young sir, here. I’ll be waiting outside if you need me.”

“Thank you, Vincent.”

Once he left, Ginny quickly removed Draco’s hand from her person. The music had started up again, a cacophony of brass and percussion wailing on her eardrums, so she shut the door. She turned around to see Draco with his hands thrust jauntily in his pockets, any traces of mirth removed from his face.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Taking in dinner and a show; what do you think?” She folded her arms beneath her breasts with a huff. “I touched the stupid painting and wound up here, wherever _here_ is.”

“Hell, Weasley,” he said seriously. “You’re in my hell.”

Ginny rolled her eyes and Draco sighed dramatically, patting his hands down his jacket until he found what he was looking for. He removed a small silver case from his breast pocket and flipped it open, taking out a cigarette.

“Allegories to hell aside,” he said, placing the cigarette between his teeth, “we’re not far from Nova Scotia.” He found a silver lighter in his trouser pocket and lit the fag, inhaling deeply. “As for the date, it’s December 7th, 1941.”

“1941?” Ginny dropped her arms in shock. “So the painting is some sort of time-travelling device or—” she frowned “—or more likely it’s a portal to an alternate dimension.”

Draco tipped an imaginary hat in congratulations. “Welcome aboard the Princess Anne.”

* * *

“So you’ve been here for two months?”

“Sixty-three fun-filled days.”

Draco exhaled a long curl of smoke in Ginny’s direction and she coughed, waving her hand in front of her face. The two had seated themselves at the table in her dressing room, where Draco had made himself right at home. He had poured himself a drink of what Ginny could only assume was some kind of whisky.

“And you’re the pianist?”

“Apparently,” he drawled. “I’m part of the band. I play nights.” Light flared from the tip of the cigarette as he took another drag, a tiny glowing red ember. “I don’t know who _you_ are, though. I guess the painting made up a story for you when you were sucked inside, too.”

“Too? What’s your story?”

Draco went stiff at the question, his features darkening with a grimace. The seconds ticked by as both lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. He obviously wasn’t going to talk about it.

“Uh, earlier you said we were near Nova Scotia?” Ginny asked. “So we’re on a ship?”

“Can’t get anything past you,” Draco said dryly, balancing the cigarette between his fingers as he picked up his tumbler of whisky. He took a healthy swig. “We’re on the SS Princess Anne, a passenger liner bound for Glasgow from New York City.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“What, Glasgow or New York City?”

“No,” she said between gritted teeth, “the Princess Anne.”

He shrugged. “It’s a Muggle ship.”

“And why are there soldiers on board?”

“Because there’s a war going on!” he snapped irritably. He set down his glass. “Now how about you answer a question of mine, Weasley, like how you plan on getting us out of here?”

Ginny was flummoxed. “Well, I’m working on it! I just need a little time to let all of _this_ process.”

“Right.”

Draco crushed his cigarette in the brass tray and stood up, running fingers through his gelled hair. A loose strand fell across his eyes and he blew it out of his face.

“Please tell me you that you weren’t stupid enough to be alone when you foolishly touched the painting,” he said. “Others know where you were and what you were doing when you went missing, right?”

Ginny paused. “Uh, sort of?”

“Sort of? You idiot!”

“Hey!” She stood up and began jabbing him in the chest with her finger. “You touched the painting, too!”

“Yes—” he caught her by the wrist “—but I’m not a Curse-Breaker, am I? I’m not trained to spot cursed objects on sight.”

“At least I don’t collect them like some stupid Dark Wizard!” She tore her hand from his grasp, seething with rage. “This is all your fault!”

“My fault?” He grabbed her by the chin and leaned in close. “Now you listen here, you little bint!”

“No! _You_ listen!” Her chest heaved as she glared at him. “You got yourself mixed up with the wrong people, Malfoy, _again_ , and now you’re paying for it! Not just you but everyone else around you! Do you know that your mother is sick?”

“Don’t you dare!” he roared. “Don’t you dare stand there and lecture me, you sanctimonious little shrew! You have no idea— _no_ idea what you’re talking about!”

“Enlighten me, then!”

Just then Vincent barged into the room, and Draco immediately let go of Ginny. The two stepped apart, breathing heavily.

“Is everything all right in here, mum?” Vincent was asking Ginny, but he was glaring murderously at Draco.

“Yes, thank you, Vincent.” Ginny tried to smile. “We were just having a heated debate about—”

“Football,” Draco supplied quickly, arms crossed over his chest. “Roses rivalry: I’m Leeds; she’s Manchester United. You know how it is.”

Vincent kept his heavy gaze fixed on the blond. He wasn’t buying it, and so the two men stood each other down like soldiers on opposite battlefields. Ginny took a careful step between them, touching Draco’s elbow while motioning towards the door.

“Draco was just leaving.”

“I was?” His gaze went to her hand before meeting her eyes. “I am.” He dropped his arms and took her gloved hand in his, planting a chaste kiss there. “We must chat again soon, Ginny. We have a lot to catch up on.”

“Yes, we do.”

She was about to pull her hand away when Draco moved in closer, his lips pressing against the shell of her ear.

“Meet me up on deck at 2 AM,” he whispered, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down her spine. “And don’t be late.”

* * *

Ginny spent the majority of her evening being mobbed by guests at the bar. Some asked for her autograph; others asked for a dance. Apparently she was a famous singer and actress from London who was on her way back home from an American tour.

She had tried to get Draco alone after their first encounter, but he was too busy playing the piano well into the night. Just after midnight, Vincent escorted to her cabin where she waited, trying to suss out what to do next. She ransacked the room, trying to find a clue, any clue as to how to get out of the painting. What was the curse and how could she break it?

When the questions only multiplied in her head to the point of insanity, Ginny decided to take a break and go through her wardrobe. She had never been much of a clothes horse, but Muggle women’s fashion in the 1940s was fascinating. There were a lot of gowns and long skirts. Everything was tight around the bust and stomach, too. It made her a little self-conscious. One thing she did like was the floor-length sable fur coat she found. It fit her like a glove, and it was warm.

Eventually she grew bored and sat down on the edge of the bed, waiting for the clock to run down to 2 AM. She wondered if Bill had realised she was missing yet. She could only pray that her big brother really was the smarter of the two and wouldn’t touch the painting. She also hoped that he would figure out a way to bring her home.

* * *

Draco was waiting for her up on deck.

It took Ginny nearly ten minutes to locate him on the massive ship, but she eventually found him near the bow, leaning against the railing and smoking a cigarette. He was dressed how she had last seen him, in his dinner jacket and trousers. She couldn’t understand how he wasn’t freezing. She pulled her heavy fur coat tighter around herself to keep warm.

“You’re late,” he deadpanned.

“You could have told me where you’d be, exactly,” she retorted snippily.

“Would you have known your starboard from your port?”

Ginny harrumphed loudly at him and he smirked, flicking the butt of his cigarette into the ocean. He already had another fag out, clenched between his teeth, and cupped his hand around it as he lit it. A small light blazed red at the end and he leaned back against the railing, snapping the silver lighter shut as he slipped back into his trouser pocket.

“That’s a nasty habit,” she said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. She never understood why people smoked.

“So I’ve been told.” Thin grey wisps escaped from the corners of his smirk and he tilted his head back; smoke floated like a soul towards the star-studded sky. “You’d be surprised at what nasty habits you’d pick up, under the right circumstances.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

He ignored her and glanced down at his hand; he had an old pocket watch in his palm and was checking the time.

“Nothing.”

Ginny exhaled a sigh of annoyance, watching her breath crystallise in the air. She had spent the last two hours holed up in her cabin, trying to figure out how to get out of the painting. A curse could only be broken on the object itself, not from within it. At least that was what she’d been taught. She could always experiment and find another way of here, but without her wand she didn’t know where to start.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you since I arrived here.” Draco looked up her expectantly, slipping the watch into his jacket pocket. “How is it that I can’t perform magic?”

“Maybe because you spent most of your time mooning over Potter rather than taking your studies seriously?”

Ginny’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. If only looks could kill. But Draco just shrugged and took a long drag of his cigarette.

“Well, for one thing, it’d be helpful if you had a wand, which you don’t. And before you ask, I don’t have one, either.” He scratched his stubbled chin with his thumb. “See, that’s how the curse works. You don’t enter the painting with anything you might have had on you.”

“And if you had a wand, you might be able to escape.”

“Exactly,” he said. “We still have magic in us. We just don’t have access to it.”

A knot tightened in Ginny’s stomach at the thought, and she smoothed a hand down her hair. She went over the different curses and their mechanisms in her head and found nothing of relevance. She had never heard of a cursed object that transported you to another dimension. It wasn’t something she had to keep an eye out for when digging for treasure in Egypt.

This wasn’t a simple curse, or even a not-so-simple curse. It was a Dark Artefact—Draco’s Dark Artefact, to be precise. He’d know what its true purpose was.

“So why did you call me up here so late?” she asked. “Couldn’t you have taken a break two hours ago to talk to me?”

Ginny was a cautious person, suspicious even, but she was also curious—too curious at times.

“I figured it’d be a while before you could escape your adoring fans to have a private chat with a lowly commoner like myself.”

Ginny smirked. She had to admit that it was nice seeing a Malfoy relegated to the role of hired entertainment.

“So how does the shoe fit, Malfoy?”

“Eh.” He shrugged dispassionately. “At least I’m not a freckled ginger.”

“Mhm.” Ginny bit the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from swearing. She refused to rise to his baiting. “Seriously, why did you bring me out here, Malfoy? It’s freezing. Why couldn’t you have come to my room and told me whatever it is you want to tell me?”

The cigarette flared as he inhaled, throwing red light against his grey eyes, and he chuckled humourlessly. “It’s not so much what I want to tell you but what I have to _show_ you.”

“Huh?”

She was about to ask him to clarify when he checked his pocket watch again. He flicked his half-spent cigarette overboard, as if he were in a hurry, and motioned for her to come closer.

“Come here,” he ordered. When she didn’t obey, he became impatient, but his voice softened, “Ginny, come over here... _please_.”

She contemplated turning around and heading back to her cabin, but the way he spoke her name gave her pause. Reluctantly, she shuffled over, staying just far enough away so that they weren’t touching. Draco, however, wasn’t having any of that. He beckoned for her to come closer.

Maybe it was her nagging curiosity or the way his eyes seemed to penetrate her defences, but Ginny stopped resisting and stepped into Draco’s personal space. She could feel the warmth from his body radiate towards hers. His hands went to her shoulders and she flinched as he bent down towards her. Her gaze went to his pale lips, the bottom full and pink, and for a second she thought he was going to kiss her. But then his fingers dug into her fur collar and his hands slid down her arms, taking the coat with him.

“W-what are you doing?”

He discarded her coat on the deck, leaving her standing in the modest silk shift she had planned on going to bed in.

“It’s too heavy,” he said, taking off his own jacket and draping it around her. “It’s just going to weigh you down.”

“Weigh me down? What are you talking about?”

Next his hands went to his belt, undoing it in one swift motion. Ginny was too confused to react at first, but then instinct kicked in. She tried to run, but Draco grabbed her roughly by the arm and pulled her back against the railing.

“Malfoy, stop! Stop it!” She struggled. “I said, _stop_!”

Ginny was mystified, angry and scared. She tried to hit him then, but Draco had her firmly held in place. He took the belt and secured it around her waist and the railing. He then picked up his jacket, which had fallen from her shoulders during the struggle, and put her arms through the sleeves until they got lost in the length of them, preventing her from clawing his eyes out.

“Why—” her voice quivered in her throat “—why are you doing this?”

She wanted to cry; she wanted to scream, but more than that she was seething with rage. She could do nothing. He was stronger than her. Without her magic, Ginny was impotent in his grasp.

“I’m sorry.” Draco’s eyes were downcast as he buttoned the jacket.

“For what, being a nutter!” she spat. “For tying me to the railing of a bloody ship?”

He finally lifted his head and their eyes met. They were tired eyes. He looked resigned, not mad. Maybe she could reason with him a little, or threaten him.

“Malfoy, let go of me at once or I’ll—”

It happened quickly, starting with a loud rumble. Then there was a high-pitched whistling noise and the ship began to tremble. Not rocking or swaying; trembling. Seconds later there was a loud crack like thunder and the middle of the deck exploded with a boom. Ginny was throw back by the force of the shock-wave, almost tumbling off into the ocean below. A jet of water blasted upwards through the ship, followed by a thick, acrid plume of smoke.

“What’s happening?”

She could hear the rush of the water; she could hear the hull splintering beneath her feet. Worst of all, she could hear the screams. People were dying; some were already dead. It was sheer pandemonium, but Draco was standing calmly by her side as he held onto the railing. There was no fear in his eyes, only resigned determination.

There was another blast, and very quickly the ship began to seize and break apart. The moon overhead cast a horrifying light on the large ship as it severed in half. There were more screams of terror and Ginny could see them—people throwing themselves overboard. Then their severed bow of the ship was thrust upwards, buoying as it slanted down in a vertical line towards the dark ocean.

“Hang on!” Draco yelled.

Ginny obeyed, clinging to the railing as the belt held her in place. They were sinking. Terror plunged through her like a knife, fear pouring from her veins like a bloody wound. Everything was happening too fast. She was going to die.

“Malfoy!”

He had pulled himself up onto the other side of the railing and was lying flat on his belly. He ordered her to hold on while he undid the belt buckle around her waist. She watched it fall, disappearing into the icy depths below, and she felt the weight of her own body struggle with gravity as she tried to hold herself up.

“Don’t let go!” he yelled, as her feet dangled in the air.

“I’m trying!”

The few others who had made it to the railing were hanging on for dear life. Draco had dug his heels behind the bars for leverage and grabbed Ginny by the forearms, pulling her up. She scrambled up and clung to him as the severed ship began to sink, curling her head into his side when she saw the man hanging next to her lose his grip. He fell into the ocean with a blood-curdling scream.

Draco held onto the railing with one arm while the other was wrapped securely around Ginny’s waist. The ship buoyed them up again, a great dip, before sinking quicker than before.

Ginny closed her eyes and waited. This was it. This was the end.

“We’ve got to jump before it sinks,” Draco yelled over the noise, “or else the current will drag us under.”

“What?”

He already had them both lifted up onto their feet and took her by the hand.

“Jump!”

“But I can’t sw—!”

It was already too late. She was being swept up in his momentum, soaring weightlessly through the air. Sometime during the fall she had lost hold of his hand and free-fell. Hitting the water seemed to take forever, but when she did, it felt like breaking through ice. She was too cold, too stunned to breathe, but she couldn’t hold her breath forever.

After only a few seconds, her lungs were burning and her body was seizing from the cold. She couldn’t move. Eventually the instinct to breathe kicked in and she inhaled, gulping in a mouthful of ice-cold sea water. There was pain at first, awful pain, and then a lightness like euphoria.

She began to drift, her mouth and eyes opened wide as she sank deeper into the sea. And as the black fingers of unconsciousness curled their way into her brain, her last vision was of Draco diving in after her; his hand reaching out for hers.

* * *


	4. play it again

He looked down at the piano and felt a crushing sadness. Even broken and destroyed, the instrument had a strange, forlorn beauty to it. It was like the beauty of the desert: vast, empty and unforgiving. Now it was silenced forever, unable to create a note because of a single act of destruction. It was mourning what it was, what it had been and what others would still be, and Draco mourned it like he mourned himself.

His gaze swept over the rest of the scene: dead men displayed in various states of deconstruction. A feeling, stealthy and unwanted, crept into his heart and burrowed there like a parasite, making it somehow heavier than before. It was the feeling that he stood in a broken world, and that he was part, parcel and participant in its brokenness.

Then her hand fell softly on his shoulder and he felt, with some wayward and unexplained sense, the tentativeness of her movements. Hesitant, shy, but tender. She drew closer to him still, warming him in a way all his fine clothes never could. And as the water continued to rise up around them, they just stood there together, holding hands.

He might have been standing in a broken world, but at least he wasn’t the only one anymore.

* * *

**7 December 1941 (7:08 AM)  
SS Princess Anne  
46.0167° N, 55.5833° W**

 

Ginny’s eyes snapped open in terror and she lunged forward, gasping for air. For a brief moment she thought she was still underwater, but the oxygen easily flowing in and out of her lungs suggested otherwise.

Had it all been a dream?

She blinked owlishly at her surroundings. Confusion and mild panic pumped through her veins, raising her skin in gooseflesh. Her heart rattled wildly in its cage, anticipating the worst as her mind slowly registered through the subterfuge. After a moment, the fog lifted from her brain and she could see that she was in her cabin.

Relief flooded her system all at once, and she sighed. No longer in immediate peril, her heartbeat began to even out. However, while she wasn’t dead, she clearly wasn’t back home. She was still on the Princess Anne. She was still in the painting.

Swinging her legs out of bed, Ginny gripped the side of the mattress and glanced down at the wind-up alarm clock on the bedside cabinet. It was 7:08 AM. Disappointment swiftly replaced relief and her lips twisted into a grimace. The adrenaline that had just briefly been surging through her body was quickly dissipating. Suddenly she felt boneless and very, very tired.

She felt like lying back down and going to sleep, but a niggling thought persisted at the back of her brain: how was she still alive? Only one person could answer that question.

It took her a few minutes to get dressed, wriggling her hips into a pair of sheer tights and an A-line skirt, and buttoning up a silk blouse that had no reason to be so form-fitting. It took her several more minutes to convince Vincent to locate Draco’s cabin for her on the lower decks, and a stern talking-to in order to persuade the burly man to give her and Draco some time alone.

When she finally entered Draco’s cabin, she saw the blond asleep on a lower bunk at the back the room. She approached cautiously at first, inspecting the empty bunks. He was alone. She could hear him breathing shallowly as he lay on his back, his face relaxed in slumber. His pale blond hair was a mess across his forehead, wisping over equally pale eyelashes that fanned across his cheeks like whip-marks. He looked... angelic.

“Malfoy,” she whispered.

He murmured in his sleep, his eyes flickering beneath thinly veiled lids.

“Draco!”

His eyelids shot open then, and he swiftly turned his head in Ginny’s direction. Brilliantly pale grey eyes bored into hers.

“So you’re real, then?” he croaked.

“I am,” she said, not knowing what else to say.

Draco simply nodded and cleared his throat. Meticulously peeling back the covers, he sat up and swung his legs out of bed. He was dressed only in a white undershirt and grey boxers, and Ginny quickly averted her gaze as he stood up.

Unperturbed by her presence, he stretched languidly. He ran his fingers through his long blond hair with a jaw-cracking yawn before grabbing a pair of trousers and pulling them on one leg at a time.

“So what do you want?” he asked.

“I want you to tell me what’s going on,” she demanded. “Last night, I... I died. The ship exploded and we jumped into the water and I drowned. I _know_ I drowned. What happened?”

“You drowned,” he said, throwing on a dress shirt. “I tried to get you, but... Well, I didn’t know you couldn’t swim.”

Ginny bit her lip in embarrassment. It wasn’t something she liked to advertise. Curse-Breakers were supposed to be skilled in many areas, and she was. It wasn’t as if she was totally inept at the sport. She could swim, to an extent, in a pond or a slow-moving river; even in a lake, if she was in the shallow end. However, she had never tried to swim in the ocean before; certainly not at night and at freezing temperatures.

“So what happened next?”

Draco shrugged dispassionately. “I eventually lost all feeling in my extremities and drowned, too.”

Ginny’s brow creased in confusion. “Then how were we saved?”

“We weren’t.” He began to button up his shirt and tucked it into his trousers. “This is still December 7th, Weasley. We’re stuck in a time-loop.”

“A time-loop?”

“It’s part of the curse.” He found his jacket on the back of a chair and pulled out the silver cigarette case from one of the pockets. “You’re meant to relive the same day over and over again. You can’t escape it; not even by dying.”

Ginny’s mouth dropped open in shock. “You can’t be serious. You—you’ve died every day for sixty-three days?”

“Sixty-four.” He took out a cigarette and lit it. “Now you can see why I smoke. Dying for two months straight is stressful business.”

“I don’t—” Ginny shook her head in disbelief. “How have you not gone insane?”

“Who says I haven’t?” He exhaled a lazy ring of smoke with a smirk. “I did say that I was happy to see you.”

“You did?”

He shrugged on his jacket and folded down the collar with a frown. “I guess I must have been thinking it, then.”

She didn’t say anything to that, only watched as Draco continued to get dressed. He slipped on a pair of shoes and sat back down on his bunk, resting his elbows on his knees. He then ran a hand through his dishevelled hair and sighed.

“Look, Weasley, I’m going to need to hit the head soon, and I don’t think Vinnie-boy is going to let you follow me into the latrine to have a chat.” She blushed. “So if you don’t have any more questions...”

“Does the day always end the same?”

“What, the ship blowing up?”

She nodded, and Draco took a drag of his cigarette, eyeing her with what could have almost been labelled as pity. He exhaled with a nod.

“Yeah, at 2:16 every morning.” He scratched the side of his nose. “I was eventually able to figure out that it was a German U-boat that torpedoed the ship, twice.”

“Are— _were_ there any survivors?”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

“So,” she hedged, “once you die—”

“The day starts all over again at 7:08 AM.”

Ginny’s stomach leapt into her throat. She was an adventure junky by nature, but this—this was too much.

“There’s no way to stop it?” She refused to believe that there were no other options but to die on an infinite loop. “Have you ever tried evacuating the ship beforehand or taking a lifeboat?”

He sneered at her. “If it hasn’t escaped your notice, Weasley, there’s a war going on. Rationing and the like, although you seemed to have lost the memo.” He pointed to her hosiery and silk blouse. “There’s a shortage of everything nowadays, including lifeboats on passenger liners. They’re reserved for troop transport ships now. On top of that, the few they have are hard to get at.”

“Then why not tell the captain or the crew what’s going on?”

“Cause I don’t exactly have a good name here,” he said, and she snorted derisively.

“Why am I not surprised?”

He grunted, glaring at her above the red flare of his cigarette. “So why did you come in here after me, then?”

“Pardon me?”

“You seem to have little respect for me, Weasley; so why jump into the painting to find me?”

“First of all, I did not _jump_ into the painting,” she said. “Your father hired me to find you. He thought you were caught up in some dark dealings, although he assumed you were on the side of the Ministry.”

He raised an eyebrow at this. “My father hired a Curse-Breaker to find me? What, were all the monkey PI’s booked up? Not enough bananas to go around?”

“Ha-ha,” she laughed dryly. “He’d already hired private investigators, but they turned up nothing.”

“So that left you?”

Ginny placed her hands on her hips. “Your father seems to think that I’m the very best.”

“My father’s clearly one referral letter away from being committed,” Draco drawled. “So how did you know that I was in the painting?”

She averted her eyes somewhat sheepishly. “Well, I found the painting sitting in the entrance hall at your place, and I saw what looked to be you sitting at the piano.”

Draco flicked the end of his cigarette, dropping ashes into the brass tray. “So let me get this straight, Weasley—you actually had no inkling as to where I was, found the painting on a whim, touched it and wound up here. Finding me was just a bonus, then?”

Ginny gnashed her teeth in frustration. “Look here, you smarmy git! I had just received your case _directly_ after finishing another mission. I was doing a routine search of your house when I found the painting.”

“So you don’t even know who sent it to me?”

She folded her arms beneath her breasts. “Do you?”

He scratched his eyebrow with a sigh. “I picked it up at the Manor while checking on the house. I don’t know who sent it, but it was addressed to me. Whoever sent it doesn’t know where I live nowadays.”

“Did you know something like this was going to happen?”

Draco shrugged and took another drag of his cigarette. “I knew something was going to happen, just not a cursed painting.”

“Well, that’s what happens when you get mixed up with Dark Wizards, Malfoy.”

He laughed tiredly. “I’m not a Dark Wizard, Weasley.”

“I saw the ledger,” she accused. “I saw the list of Dark Artefacts.”

Draco stood up and angrily crushed his cigarette in the ashtray. “Well, it’s a good thing you never became an Auror, Weasley. You’d put your thick-headed brother to shame with your jumping to conclusions.” He wiped his hand across his mouth and calmed himself. “The ledger is a recording of stolen Dark Artefacts that the Ministry hired me to look for.”

“But there’s no record of you working for the Ministry.”

He smiled bitterly. “Why would there be?”

Ginny’s eyebrows drew together. “But I don’t understand, unless...” She dropped her arms and glanced up at him in dawning realisation. “You’re looking for the Dark Artefacts within the Ministry itself?”

He brushed past her and headed for the door, opening it wide for her to leave. “How else do you find a mole, Weasley?”

Ginny didn’t move.

Draco wasn’t a Dark Wizard; he was a spy.

* * *

Bill Weasley was worried. Ginny hadn’t reported in that morning, nor had she responded to his numerous owls.

Later that afternoon, Bill had gone to the Leaky Cauldron to check out Ginny’s room. He found the documents sent by Lucius, which looked to be unread and unspelled for protection. That was so unlike his sister, and it put the eldest Weasley sibling on edge.

He had gone to the Burrow shortly thereafter, to check the Weasley Clock. Ginny’s name was pointed at a new setting that had never been there before: Missing. He had performed a Locator Spell with his own blood, but the results were mixed at best. Ginny had disappeared off the face of the earth, just like Draco Malfoy.

Later that evening, Bill had got in contact with Lucius and acquired an extra key and the entrance password for Draco’s house, where he met with Tracey Davis. The two inspected the wizard’s home, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary; that was until Tracey found a painting set against the console table in the entrance hall.

It looked to be a period piece, Muggle, and something a Malfoy wouldn’t own. Bill felt himself instantly drawn to the unusual painting and couldn’t explain why. He wasn’t exactly a connoisseur of art, outside of his interest in cursed treasure, but something about the canvas spoke to him. It was almost hypnotic to look at, with its vibrant colours and brilliant strokes. He could see that Tracey was enraptured with it, too.

She was about to touch the exposed canvas when Bill’s gut told him to stop her. He immediately spelled the witch away and she went tumbling into the wall with a cry of shock. He took the opportunity to step between Tracey and what he assumed was a cursed object. He knew he had to get rid of the painting or hide it somehow, but it was still calling out to him like a siren’s song.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Bill saw a flash of red. It was the familiar Weasley red hair. His attention was drawn to the painted female on the stage. Everything about her fit the mood of the piece, from her dress to her colouring, but that hair and that face were unmistakable. It was his sister, Ginny.

A strangled grunt of discomfort momentarily broke the spell, and Bill glanced down to see Tracey crawling towards the painting. With a flick of his wand, he used the torn and discarded covering to re-wrap the canvas.

With the painting covered, the spell was broken. Tracey sat up and shook her head in a daze.

“What was that?”

“It’s a cursed painting.” Bill levitated the package so that it was resting face-down on the table. “It has some sort of modified Siren Spell on it that lures its victims into it.”

“Into where?”

“Into the painting itself.”

Bill held out his hand and Tracey took it, trying not to stumble as he pulled her up to her feet. He was exhausted. It felt like he had run a marathon. Whatever spell was used to create the artefact was incredibly strong, and dark.

“Ginny’s in there,” he said. “I saw her in the painting.”

Tracey’s throat bobbed slightly as she swallowed. “I think Draco’s in it, too. I saw him at the piano. Or at least someone who looked like him.”

Bill sighed. This was a good-news-bad-news scenario. “Well, at least we know where they are now.”

“Yeah, but how do we get them out?”

Bill shook his head. He didn’t have any answers.

He had heard of cursed paintings like this before, but they were incredibly rare. Portal magic was complex and dangerous, which was why Portkeys were so strictly regulated. However, Portkeys only opened a portal to a fixed geographical location, generally at a fixed point in time. There was no telling where this cursed painting took Draco and Ginny. In order to find out, he’d have to figure out who made it.

“I don’t know yet,” he said. “But I’ll find out.”

* * *

Ginny was tired; she was tired of racking her brain for solutions to get out of the painting. She was tired of fretting. She had gone through a long list of spells in her head; however, without her wand, they were of very little use to her.

What she needed right now was a mental break.

Slipping into her least restrictive formal dress, Ginny made her way to the ballroom, escorted by the ever-vigilant Vincent. It was almost midnight and the extravagant room wasn’t nearly as packed as it had been when she first arrived. There were a few stragglers at the bar, mainly sailors and American soldiers, and some rather enthusiastic dancers dedicated to cutting a rug on the floor.

Draco was at the piano, playing something upbeat and jazzy. It must have been a Muggle song because she didn’t know it, but the sheer beauty of it made her heart swell for reasons she couldn’t explain. Most people seemed to be enjoying the music as well, except for one particular sailor who was standing near the stage, eyeing Draco with what could only be labelled as thinly veiled contempt.

Ordering Vincent to hang back, Ginny went over to the bar and took a stool. The bartender came over to ask her order. He was a tall, handsome older gentleman with an eye-patch, greying hair and a strong square jaw. His face was rugged-looking, with several small half-moon scars marring the right side of his face where his eye-patch rested. The eye that was visible was cobalt blue.

“Good evenin’, lass,” he greeted with a brogue that made her smile. “Wot canna get ya?”

“Water for now, thank you, Mr... ?”

“Owens, young miss. Leary Owens.”

He poured her a glass of water and she glanced down the length of the bar. “The action has certainly died down in here, hasn’t it?”

“Aye. They were all waitin’ fer you ta make yer grand appearance. But when ya didn’t show, they all got a lil disheartened an’ scuttled off ta bed. Only the drunks an’ the hired help persevered.”

He winked at her and she laughed heartily.

However, as if to prove Owens’s point, an American soldier bravely approached Ginny and attempted to flirt. Vincent came over and quickly put an end to it, and Ginny was given her space once again.

“Okay, the English sailors I understand,” she said to Owens, “but what’s with the American soldiers?”

“Ah, well, sometimes passenger liners like this one are commandeered as troop transport ships.” He motioned to the talkative soldiers standing near the stage. “We picked up a few American volunteers at port in New York, but that’s a moot point now since the States is likely ta be declarin’ war any day now.”

“And why’s that?”

He looked at her askance. “Coz the Japs attacked Pearl Harbour earlier today?”

“Oh, yeah. Right.”

Ginny took a sip of her water, feeling more than a little stupid. She had clearly forgot that the world was currently at war in this timeline. She had always been rubbish at history, wizarding or otherwise. She was about to ask Owens another question when a ruckus broke out near the stage.

She turned to see the same British sailor who had been staring at Draco earlier was now heckling him, calling him a coward. Shortly thereafter, two American soldiers joined in the jeering. No one tried to stop them and Draco appeared to be ignoring them as he continued to play. It looked as though the soldiers were about to storm the stage when Owens’s voice boomed, carrying across the room and causing Ginny to cover her ears with a wince.

“Oi! Take a powder, lads!” he yelled, before motioning to Ginny. “Yer in the presence o’ a lady, so try an’ act civil, yeah?”

The sailor and two soldiers immediately backed off, looking both angry and sheepish. A man trotted up on stage to have a chat with Draco, and Ginny turned back in her stool to face Owens.

“So, what was that all about?”

Owens shook his head. “Those lads are always on Draco’s case.”

“Why?”

“He’s a young, healthy-lookin’ English lad playin’ keys on a cruise ship while there’s a war goin’ on at home.”

Ginny’s brow creased in confusion. “They think he’s a deserter?”

“They think he’s a coward.” Owens scratched the side of his nose. “He’s not a deserter, though. He served six months in the RMA.” When she gave him a blank look, he clarified, “The Royal Marines Artillery.”

“Ah,” she said, as if she had a clue what he was saying. She didn’t. “So what happened?”

“Well, from wot I heard, he was medically discharged fer partial hearin’ loss after a shell exploded next ta his ear.”

“So then he’s served?” Owens nodded. “Well, they can’t expect him to have continued fighting with such a disability. Hearing is fairly crucial when dealing with—with, uhm, a-artillery, right?”

She had no idea what artillery was and if one needed full hearing to perform it.

“Men don’t see it like that, lass.”

“Why not?”

He threw a dish rag over his shoulder. “Look at it this way: how would you feel if yer still servin’ in the war, still sufferin’ an’ watchin’ yer mates die while that pretty lad o’er there gets ta entertain beautiful women like yerself?”

Her shoulders instantly dropped. “Oh.”

Ginny remembered hating Draco and all the Slytherins who didn’t involve themselves in the Battle of Hogwarts. However, looking back on it now, as an adult, they were all just kids back then, and a lot of them had parents who were on opposing sides of the battle. What would she have done if she had been told to fight her parents?

“So you don’t like him, either?”

“Now, I ne’er say that. He’s a respectful enough lad, quiet an’ a lil morose at times, but brilliant on the ivory despite the handicap. Or maybe it’s coz o’ it.” Owens shrugged lazily. “I’ve long since served my time in the Great War, an’ I know what it’s like. I wouldn’t wish that kind o’ hell on any man, even one as dandified as Draco. He didn’t choose this path, Miss Weasley. None o’ us did.”

Ginny nodded into her drink. “Well, that explains why he has no bunkmates.” When Owens threw her a curious look, she scrambled to explain herself, “We, uh, went to school together, me and Draco, so I dropped by his cabin earlier this morning as a surprise.”

“I’m sure it was quite the pleasant surprise,” Owens said with a grin. “But, no, that’s not the only reason the lad is friendless ’ere. There’s a rumour goin’ round that he’s a German spy. Ya know, the English-speakin’ kind.

“It’s just a rumour, o’ course. No heat t’it. The lads just want ta hate him fer hatin’s sake. They’re envious o’ wot they can’t ’ave until this godawful war is o’er.”

Ginny took a sip of her water and mulled over the older man’s words. Just then, the music ended and there was a lull between songs before the piano picked back up again. Draco was coming down the stairs, taking out his cigarette case as he walked over to the bar.

He sat down on the stool next to hers and Ginny waved a hand to prevent Vincent from coming over. While she might not have been delighted to be in Draco’s company, she felt like she owed him a little for trying to save her life last night. Living the life of a branded coward on this ship was probably karma for how much of an insufferable prat he’d been in school, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t feel a tiny bit of sympathy for him.

“Hey,” she greeted.

“Hey,” he said unenthusiastically, lighting a cigarette. “To what do I owe the pleasure of the darling of England gracing me with her presence this evening?”

“Draco,” Owens growled warningly, “play nice.”

“I always play nice, old man.”

He exhaled a puff of smoke and Ginny shifted in her seat.

“Did you want some something to drink?” she asked.

He lifted an eyebrow in surprise at her before shrugging. “Sure, why not?”

Ginny ordered two whiskies and laced her fingers together on the table. The music slowed down to a waltz and she glanced back over her shoulder, watching the couples sway on the dance floor.

Draco followed her gaze and looked at her oddly. “Why aren’t you out there enjoying yourself?”

She turned back with a shrug. “I don’t feel like it.”

He exhaled smoke through his nose and they both turned back to the bar, staring forward in silence until their drinks came.

Draco thanked Owens and took a healthy swig of the cheap whisky while Ginny stared intently at her glass. It wasn’t that she didn’t like to drink. In fact, it used to be quite the past-time of hers back when she played for the Harpies. She had been known for going on binges. After one night that had resulted in her flashing a stadium full of fans and starting a fist-fight with the Falmouth Falcons’ captain, Ginny had decided to stay away from the bottle. However, with no repercussions here, and with no one to remind her of her embarrassing behaviour, except Draco, she decided to throw caution to the wind.

Ginny managed a tentative a sip before sticking out her tongue with a baying shudder. The liquid burned a hole down her throat and she shook her head, setting the drink back down on the bar.

“Bleh! What is that?” She kept sticking out her tongue and wagging it, as if she could rid her palette of the taste.

“I think it was paint thinner at one point,” Draco said, before taking another swig. “You get used to it.”

She pushed the tumbler of whisky away. “Yeah, I’d rather not.”

Draco just shrugged and returned to his drink, finishing it off with a long gulp. He set it down on the bar with a satisfying hiss and stood up. He took another drag from his cigarette. The harsh orange light illuminated his face with a ghostly glow, the hollows of his cheeks highlighted for all the world to see.

“Thanks for the drink, Weasley.” A plume of smoke, impossibly fine and dainty, curled into his nostrils before he slowly exhaled. “I’m gonna call it an early night. Jack’s got the piano. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” He nodded curtly to the bartender. “Owens.”

Ginny frowned deeply at Draco’s abrupt speech. Was he mad at her? He was about to walk away when she grabbed him by the arm.

“Wait.” He glanced down at her hand and she hastily pulled it away, giving him an annoyed look. “Aren’t you going to dance or something?”

She wasn’t sure why she asked him that, other than she didn’t want to be alone right now. But then Draco was already moving towards her, his face so close to hers that for the second time in two days she thought he was going to kiss her.

“Maybe some other time, _Ginny_.”

He stepped away and she sat back in her seat, more than a little stunned. She only moved when a sailor came over and kindly asked her to dance. She nodded dumbly and allowed him to pull her out onto the dance floor, swaying along to the music.

As they danced, Ginny’s eyes searched the ballroom for Draco, following the blond as he disappeared out the doors. Her stomach felt like it had bottomed out. At first she couldn’t pinpoint the emotion she felt at seeing him leave, but then it came rushing to her all at once.

 _Alone_.

Even when dancing in the arms of another man, she felt utterly alone.

* * *

Ginny got back to her cabin shortly before one in the morning, but she couldn’t sleep. How could anyone if they knew they were about to die a horrible death in an hour? The knowledge that she’d wake up alive the next day offered her little comfort.

She was restless.

She had considered going up on deck to face her fate like the last time, but the thought of the explosion and the smoke and falling off the ship into the black ocean terrified her. After weighing her limited options, Ginny decided to sneak out of her cabin and visit Draco.

She had only knocked on the door once before it opened.

“Weasley.”

His hand was resting atop the door as he casually leaned against it. It looked as though he had been in the midst of undressing when she arrived. His trousers hung loosely on his hips and his dress shirt was unbuttoned, exposing his hairless stomach and chest. She could see the raised white scar on his left pectoral and tried not to blatantly stare, letting her gaze travel up over the ridge of his collarbone and the staves of his neck, past his chin and pale lips, until she found his eyes.

Grey, like storm clouds.

Ginny swallowed hard. Draco had the sort of gaze that could disarm a woman, and so she quickly collected her wits.

“Malfoy, a word.”

“Two, if you want.”

He opened the door wide and stepped aside to permit her entrance.

“So I’ve been thinking.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

She ignored the barb and turned around to face him as he shut the door. “We can’t get out with our magic, but there has to be a loophole.”

“A loophole? How do you figure that?”

“Well, first of all, the painting—the Dark Artefact—was clearly designed as a prison.”

“With capital punishment,” he added darkly.

“Whoever created the artefact put a very powerful Siren Spell on it in order to snare his prisoner.” She folded her arms beneath her breasts. “However, the problem with Siren Spells is that the creator can fall prey to them just as easily as his intended victim. Which means he could also enter the painting by accident while testing it out.”

“And he’d need to have a way to get out if that happened,” Draco said, sounding somewhat impressed.

“Exactly.” Ginny allowed herself a smug smile. “A loophole.”

“And what do you think that loophole would be?”

He pushed past her and went to the bedside cabinet to pour himself a drink.

She followed him.

“I don’t know that yet,” she admitted, “but this morning you mentioned that we were caught in a time-loop. The day always starts off and ends the same, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, what if we change the course of events? Get off the ship alive or prevent the ship from being hit in the first place. We save lives. Maybe if we actually live through the night, that would deactivate the spell and send us home.”

“Maybe.” He took a sip of his drink before sighing. “All right, Weasley. We’ll try your loophole theory tomorrow since it’s a little too late tonight.”

“Oh, right.” She fidgeted slightly. “That’s coming up soon, isn’t it?”

“Mhm.”

“Hey, uh, have you ever stayed in here when it happened?”

Draco sat down on the bunk with his drink, his shirt hanging open. “I usually stay in here. The cabin fills up with water rather quickly. Other times I stay in the ballroom and play the piano. It happens pretty fast there, but... you _see_ people.”

“Oh,” she exhaled in a daze.

Ginny had seen dead people before, been in battle at an earlier age, but nothing so far had desensitised her to death. Without realising it, she had turned around and sat down beside Draco on his bunk, their fingers accidentally brushing.

“Malfoy, why did you try to save me last night?” Her throat constricted as she swallowed. “Even when you knew that you couldn’t?”

Draco heaved a sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. “I’ve died sixty-four times now, Weasley. I’ve drowned, been shot, crushed, frozen, blown up. I even tried to drink myself to death once or twice.” He took a sip of his whisky before setting it down on the cabinet. “But in the end it was all the same, because each and every time I died, I died alone.” He met her gaze. “No one should have to go through that alone.”

“B-but that’s the point of it, isn’t it? Death?” Her eyes were downcast. “We all die alone.”

“You being here with me right now kind of disproves that theory, doesn’t it?”

Ginny looked up, inhaled a shuddering sigh, and nodded. “I guess so.”

She didn’t have to ask him if she could stay after that. He knew what she wanted, what she couldn’t verbalise to him. She didn’t want to be alone. And, maybe he didn’t want to be alone, either. So when they laid down together in the cot, when Ginny’s body began to tremble, Draco wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

“I’m afraid to die,” she admitted, burying her face into his chest. “I’m afraid of the pain.”

“I know.” His lips brushed the top of her head. “But I’ll be right here with you.”

“All the way?”

“All the way.”

Later, when the cabin began to fill with water and she clung to him like a frightened child, Draco held her like he was never going to let her go. Above the noise of the rushing water, above the terrified beating of her own heart, his voice alone comforted her; telling her that everything was going to be okay, that it’d all be over soon. And when there was no place left to go, no air left to breathe, not once did he let go of her hand.

That night Ginny wouldn’t die alone.

* * *


	5. a terrible sunrise

Headstrong. It was the first word that came to mind whenever he thought of her. A thousand toothless metaphors flowered in his brain and wilted. Katherine Minola, Elizabeth Bennet, Josephine March, Frederica Merriville, Anne Shirley; every classic analogue of the kind of woman he shouldn’t desire shot through his mind and fell, discarded like bullet casings.

Headstrong.

Stubborn.

Proud.

He’d never fall for a woman like her.

He remembered her at school. How could he forget? She was quiet at first, almost shy, but after a couple of years she wouldn’t shut up. Potter this, Potter that. Potter, Potter, Potter.

She had been a lithe thing, and small, but tall enough to reach a Quaffle ball and long enough to wear a skirt that sent all the boys into paroxysms of lust. She had never been a conventional beauty like her sister-in-law, Fleur, or the polished elegance of Astoria, but Ginny was unique; startling even, with her vibrant red hair and doe-brown eyes.

She was a singular woman, he’d admit, though never aloud. After all, he’d never fall for someone like her. No, never.

* * *

“Well, that plan didn’t work out so well.”

Ginny sighed, sliding her arms through the spaces between the bars of the cell. She and Draco had been thrown into the brig after they had told the captain that the ship was going to be sunk by a German U-boat. Needless to say, their warning wasn’t received well. Their attempt to evacuate the ship had failed miserably.

“Did you hear what I said?” she repeated.

Draco, who occupied the cell across from hers, let out a distracted, “Hmm?”

“I said the plan didn’t work out.”

“Oh, you figure?”

After spending the night together in Draco’s cabin, the two had made it their mission to discover the loophole that would get them out of the painting. Or rather Ginny had made it her personal mission and Draco was merely along for the ride. Still, the former Slytherin had kept his word; even when it resulted in him getting mocked, bullied, berated and imprisoned.

Ginny thought he’d blow up at her for their failure, or at least throw her an ‘I told you so’, but Draco didn’t say a word. He didn’t even appear to be all that upset. In fact, he looked rather preoccupied at the moment, particularly with his cell door. He was crouched low, eye-level with the lock, and suddenly Ginny was seized with a peculiar curiosity.

“Hey, do you really have partial hearing loss?”

Draco glanced up, his eyes snapping up to meet hers. Intense. She had to stop herself from squirming under his gaze.

“Owens, he, uh, told me about your story,” she said. “On the ship, that is.”

Draco stood up. “He did, did he?”

“Well, yeah...” She coughed once, before touching her ear. “So can you really not hear?”

“I can hear well enough,” he said, looping his arms through the bars. “Especially if the person talks loudly, like you.” He smirked. “Oh, I _always_ hear you, Weasley.”

“Yeah, okay.” She rolled her eyes. “So when did it happen?”

“At the Battle of Hogwarts.” He touched his left ear. “A Reductor Spell went off right next to it. Took a good chunk of skin and cartilage off, too.”

Ginny was shocked silent for a moment. She didn’t remember seeing Draco getting injured at the battle, but then there were more pressing issues she had to deal with at the time. She’d had her own family to look out for.

“I had it reattached with some Dittany,” he said, crouching down in front of the door again. “Unfortunately, the spell damage was irreversible.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t feel sorry for me, Weasley,” he said distractedly. “I’ve still got my good looks.”

“I don’t feel sorry for you.” He glanced up. “All of us lost something that day; some more than others.” Like Fred and Remus and Tonks. Like Teddy growing up without a mother and father. Like George living without his other half.

Draco’s hand stilled on the door and he nodded slowly. “You’re right.”

Ginny inhaled deeply and turned away. She didn’t need him to tell her that she was right, and she certainly didn’t want to be thinking about her brother right now. She tried to focus on something else, divert her attention elsewhere, but Draco had resumed his incessant tinkering at the door and it was beginning to drive her batty.

“ _What_ on earth are you doing?” she snapped.

“I’m picking the lock.” He showed her the metal pin held between in his fingers. “I’ve been in this cell before.”

“What for?”

He shrugged. “Numerous offences.”

“Like?”

A few seconds later there was a click and Draco had his ‘ah-ha!’ moment. The door swung open and he smiled triumphantly.

“Are we breaking out now?” Ginny whispered.

He shook his head and closed the door. “Not yet. They’ll likely let you out soon. Once you’re gone, I’ll wait until the guard’s shift changes and escape.”

“What if they don’t let me out?”

“They will,” he said, with an exasperated roll of his eyes. “You’re a celebrity around here, Weasley. They just think you’ve had a mental break. Besides, this is a time before the women’s movement. They think you’re a frail creature who couldn’t possibly cause any harm.” He smirked. “They don’t know you like I do.”

“Like you know me at all,” she said, before lifting her hand with a sigh. “Okay, fine; so where do I meet you when you get out?”

He looked at her as if she was an idiot. He probably thought she was.

“You won’t be meeting me,” he said. “They’ll be watching you after they let you out, probably sequester you in your cabin. It won’t be possible to meet.”

Now it was her turn to regard him like an idiot.

“Where. Do. I. Meet. You?” she repeated, and he shook his head.

“You’re so bloody stubborn.” When she gave him that defiant look of hers, he surrendered, palming his face with a sigh. “All right, fine. Get your bodyguard to take you to Owens’s cabin. He’s got his own room near the bar. He’ll hide me there.”

“You’re sure?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Good.” Ginny nodded, feeling a sense of relief flood her chest. “I’ll see you there.”

She could have let Draco go his own separate way and regroup with him the next day but, for some inexplicable reason, Ginny couldn’t be separated from him.

Draco had been right about Ginny being released first. The first officer had come for her an hour later and escorted her to her cabin, instructing her that she would be confined to her room. Sometime after ten, and with some wheedling on her part, she managed to convince Vincent to take her to Owens’s cabin, where Draco was waiting for her.

“You made it!”

“So did you,” he drawled from his perch on the cot. He looked her up and down with a raised eyebrow. “You’re looking stylish.”

Ginny’s hair was gathered up in a sloppy bun and she had dressed herself in men’s clothing as a disguise, but the only one who had been willing to lend her a shirt and trousers was the very large Vincent. Despite the tightly cinched belt, the trousers were falling off her hips and the shirt might as well have been a tent.

“I’m a very persuasive person when I need to be,” she said.

“I can believe it.”

Draco stood up then and took off his jacket, throwing it onto the back of the desk chair as he began unbuttoning his shirt.

“What are you doing?” she asked, more than a little apprehensive.

“Your disguise is shit, Weasley.” He slipped off his shirt and went to his trousers next. “You’ll need clothes more suited to your size.”

She was about to protest, but he was already slipping out of his trousers and throwing them onto the cot with his shirt.

“Put them on.”

“What will you wear?”

He shrugged lazily. “Something of Owens’s is bound to fit me.”

He rummaged around the older gentleman’s wardrobe chest for something to wear while Ginny went over to the cot and began to undress. With Draco’s back turned for her privacy, she quickly slipped into his clothes. While the blond was a far shorter and leaner man than Vincent, the trousers were still too long in the legs and the sleeves of the shirt were too long on her arms.

When she was done, she turned around to find Draco in a pair of plain brown trousers and a white button-up shirt with navy blue suspenders. He tsked at her slovenly appearance and walked over, pulling down his collar as he crouched in front of her. He began to roll up the hem of her trousers until they were no longer dragging on the floor and did the same with the cuffs of her sleeves.

When she was presentable enough, Draco stood back and sat on the edge of the desk, appraising her. She looked more like a young boy than a man, but it was better than what she was wearing before.

“So what do we do now?” Ginny asked, as she played with her collar.

“Nothing really, except wait for the inevitable.” He took out the familiar silver case from his jacket pocket and lit a cigarette. “We can regroup tomorrow morning.”

“I was thinking we could try for a lifeboat tomorrow night,” she suggested, and he shrugged.

“Whatever floats your boat.”

Draco snorted at his own joke and took a flask out of the desk drawer. He offered her a drink, which she politely declined, and he shrugged, taking a generous sip. Ginny sat down on the cot and looked around, noting the several empty bottles lying on the floor. She looked up at Draco, who had a rosy tint on his normally alabaster cheeks, and realised that he was drunk.

“Do we have to stay in here?” she asked. She wasn’t particularly keen on spending several hours alone with him when he was drunk.

Draco lowered the flask with a frown. “We can head to the ballroom, if you like. Get lost in the crowd.” He rubbed his nose with a sniff. “Of course we’ll have to hide that hair of yours so you won’t be recognised.”

He set down the flask and stood up, stumbling slightly, and took a flat cap off the rack near Owens’s cot. He plopped it down on her head with a grin, and she pushed up the rim with her finger to model it for him.

“How do I look?”

“Swell,” he said. “Like a regular nancy boy.”

She punched him hard in the arm, and he winced in pain.

“Oww!” He rubbed at the inevitable bruise forming on his bicep. “Well, you certainly don’t hit like a nancy boy.”

“You’d know how a nancy boy hits, wouldn’t you?” She smiled smugly at him and picked another hat off the rack. “We’ll have to hide that peroxide blond hair of yours, too.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m a natural blond,” he said, somewhat affronted, but took the fedora anyway and placed it on his head. “How do I look? Dashing, right?”

Ginny tried to surprise a laugh, but it came out like a snort. “Yeah, real dapper.” She went to the door and opened it. “Let’s go, playboy.”

Draco grabbed his jacket and flask and the two headed off towards the ballroom. Both managed to blend in with the crowd easily enough, bodies hidden by dancers and faces fogged by the cigarette smoke. Draco spent most of his time drinking while Ginny kept a vigilant watch for anyone who might have been eyeing them suspiciously.

“We should really try to warn everyone,” she said to him over the din.

“Yeah, cause that worked out so well this morning.”

She grimaced. “Okay, then what about just warning Vincent and Owens? I feel bad for them. They’ve been so kind to me.”

Draco chortled at this and she frowned.

“What?”

“You act as if they’re real people,” he said.

Her frown deepened. “What do you mean?”

“What do you think I mean? We’re trapped in a bloody painting and no one else here has the foggiest that they all died the day before and are living the same day on repeat. It’s only you and me in this, Weasley.”

Ginny was about to vehemently argue the point when she was interrupted by a drunken American soldier. Two, in fact, who happened to take quite the shine to the small, effeminate-looking boy in the newsboy cap.

“Hey, are you two Brits?” one of them slurred. He was tall with short-cropped blond hair, and he was eyeing Ginny to the point where she consciously took a step behind Draco.

“Me? No, I’m Australian... _mate_ ,” Draco said, before taking a sip from his flask and frowning. “No, wait, we say that too. Ah, but this little one here is British.” He put an affectionate arm around Ginny’s shoulders. “Monstrously British, in fact. The whole bubble and squeak, Westminster Abbey and God Save the King—all that rot.”

“How old is that kid?” the other American soldier asked suspiciously. “He looks kinda girly to me.”

“Oh, that’s how British boys grow up,” Draco said matter-of-factly. “All tiny and effeminate. They’re prissy little school boys, really.”

Ginny deliberately cleared her throat and looked up at Draco, who was smiling like an idiot. He was having far too much fun with her gender bender.

“We’re heading to England to volunteer for the war,” the blond American said.

“The US is bound to declare war any day now,” the other said, and his friend nodded.

“Yeah, so what’s it like there in England?”

“A land untouched by dentistry, or so I’ve heard,” Draco drawled. “You should see the teeth on this young lad.” He shrugged Ginny into a tight, one-armed hug. “Brushes them with a rock, I dare say.”

Ginny elbowed him hard in the ribs and he let go of her with a grunt, choking back on his own laughter.

“Malfoy,” she growled warningly.

“What? I’m just having a bit of fun.”

“Too much fun, if you ask me.”

He merely shrugged and finished off the contents of his flask. He was clearly determined to ride out the rest of the night blind, stinking drunk. However, when one of the soldier’s playfully grabbed Ginny’s arm and tried to tug her away, Draco immediately came alive.

He snapped out with his fist, throwing a left jab to the soldier’s jaw, followed by a straight right and then a left hook. The man’s jaw was like glass, and he went down in a crumpled heap. The other soldier, who was shorter but stockier, was too shocked to react at first. However, reality swiftly kicked in and he lunged forward. Draco blocked him with his left before countering with a cross.

Dumbfounded, Ginny just stared at the scene unfolding in front of her. Here was this once poncy prat that she knew from Hogwarts, the kind of guy who’d cry if he got an ingrown nail, who was now engaged in a brawl with soldiers. Muggles.

Draco looked to be having a little too much fun with it too, and also seemed to have gained the upper hand, when there was a deafening explosion. Suddenly the room tipped and everything went to hell after that.

Draco’s eyes widened to almost comical proportions, and it would have been funny, if not for the situation they were in. He grabbed Ginny’s hand as they tipped towards the other end, water blasting up through the deck.

“This is too early!” he shouted above the cries.

A moment later, the ship rocked again from the second impact. Their hands let go as they were thrust apart. Draco went tumbling towards the stage and Ginny sprang up to her feet, manoeuvring her way through the panicking crowd and almost getting trampled along the way.

She found Draco a wet and bloody mess, gazing down at his destroyed piano and the dead and injured band members sprawled out on the stage. She placed a hand on his shoulder and he flinched for a moment before relaxing.

The ship groaned loudly and the room continued to flood steadily. The screaming was garbled now or stopped altogether. It was going to end soon.

Ginny slipped his hand into Draco’s and squeezed, swallowing her fear into her stomach. “All the way, remember?”

“Yeah.” He laced his fingers through hers as the water rose to their hips. “All the way.”

* * *

Tracey sat at Ginny’s tiny desk with a large mug of tea, poring over Draco’s case file. One of the previous investigators, only referred to by the initials MHIII, had little to offer. She hoped Bill would have more information to bring back after his meeting with Kingsley Shacklebolt. Then maybe they’d have something more to go on.

She had skipped over Draco’s living will since decoding gave her a headache. It was more Ginny’s speciality. Instead, she spent most of her time examining the photograph Bill took of the painting. Through subtle markings on the canvas, she was able to figure out that they were on a ship: the SS Princess Anne. After some tedious Muggle research, she discovered that particular ship had been sunken by a German U-boat in 1941, between Nova Scotia and Newfoundland and Labrador.

There were no survivors.

Tracey set down the photograph with a sigh and rubbed her tired eyes. She needed a break but couldn’t rightly afford one, not with her friends missing. Draco and Ginny weren’t getting a time-out, so neither was she.

Determined, Tracey wiped the tired tears from her eyes and reached across the desk for her mug of tea. Underneath the stacks of paper, she noticed the Daily Prophet dated the day of Ginny’s disappearance. She slipped the newspaper out from underneath the papers and read the heading:

  
  


>   
> **LONG-LOST AUROR FOUND!** Dean Rogen, decorated British Auror, who has been missing for the last thirty-five years, was found alive three weeks ago on the shores of St Lawrence, Newfoundland and Labrador. He was only officially identified yesterday morning, thanks to his next of kin, who had reported him missing and believed him to be dead. He’s currently being treated at the Janus Thickey Ward at St Mungo’s. **See page 9 for details.**  
> 

  
  


Tracey quickly turned to page nine. There was photograph of a deranged-looking Rogen; a Rogen who didn’t look as though he had aged a day in thirty-five years. She quickly skimmed the article and discovered that Rogen had originally disappeared in County Meath, Ireland in 1973. Apparently the Auror had to be sedated, due to mental stress. As a result, he couldn’t give much information as to where he was or how he had come to be washed ashore in Canada. All that the investigating Aurors could get out of him was that there was a terrible princess named Anne who had held him captive and wouldn’t let him leave.

Tracey jumped out of her chair, knocking her mug over in the process. Tea spilled across the desk and drenched a few papers, which she quickly dried with her wand.

A princess named Anne?

Scooping the rest of the files into her arms, along with the newspaper, Tracey immediately Floo’d to the Ministry. After arguing loudly with Kingsley’s secretary, she managed to attract the attention of the Minister himself, who invited her inside his office. Bill was there too, and Tracey wasted no time throwing her papers down on Kingsley’s desk.

“Draco’s working for you.”

The Minister lifted an eyebrow. “Hello to you too, Miss Davis.”

Bill glanced up at Kingsley before directing his curious gaze at Tracey. “How can you so sure?”

“Because of this.”

She fished out the photograph of the painting and the newspaper article with Rogen’s picture, setting them side by side.

“See this?” She pointed to Ginny and Draco in the painting. “This is Draco and Ginny, and they are on a ship called the Princess Anne that was sunk by a German U-boat between Nova Scotia and Newfoundland. In 1941! Rogen was found off the coast of Newfoundland, nowhere near where he disappeared thirty-five years ago. Yet it’s not far from where the Princess Anne was sunk.

“Don’t you think it’s rather convenient that Rogen turned up a month after Draco’s disappearance; found in Newfoundland and mumbling something about a princess named Anne? The exact name of the ship that Draco and Ginny are currently stuck on?” She sucked in a necessary breath and placed her hands on her hips, glaring up at Kingsley. “What did you drag them into?”

“Now, Tracey,” Bill interrupted, holding his hands up like he was trying to calm a skittish colt. “Just settle down for minute.”

“No, Bill, I won’t _settle down_ ,” she said defiantly, before turning back to the Minister. She was channelling her inner Ginny right now; there was no way she was going to let this go. “I want to know what Draco was doing for you and why you had to keep it a secret. Was he looking for this cursed object?”

She expected denial or to be ushered out of the office, but Kingsley just sighed in defeat.

“Not exactly, Miss Davis.” He motioned to a chair. “Please, have a seat.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’d rather stand.”

Kingsley nodded and took a seat on the edge of his desk. “As I was about to tell Bill, here, Draco was hired to spy on particular Ministry employees. It’s believed that someone here is stealing Dark Artefacts from within the Ministry, as well as outsourcing for them.”

“Freelance treasure hunters?” Bill asked.

The Minister nodded.

“What about Rogen?” Tracey asked. “Why was he targeted?”

Kingsley regarded her carefully before speaking, “He went missing after investigating a suspected Dark Wizard: Maxwell Higgins.”

“Max Higgins’s grandfather?” Bill asked, more than a little surprised. “The grandfather of the same Curse-Breaker who’s always poaching Ginny’s digs?”

Inspiration suddenly hit Tracey and she went back to her papers, shuffling through them until she found the investigator’s report. She studied the signature: MHIII.

“MHIII, or Maxwell Higgins III.” She showed the initials to Bill and Kingsley. “I think Rogen was trapped inside the painting by Higgins, and I think his grandson sent the painting to Draco.”

“But why Mr Malfoy?” Kingsley asked. “Higgins wasn’t under suspicion by the Ministry.”

“Because Draco was digging too deep and got caught by the same people he’s spying on,” Bill said. “They probably hired Higgins to get rid of him.”

“What about Ginny?” Tracey asked. “Do you think he anticipated Ginny investigating Draco’s case?”

“Lucius did say that Ginny came highly recommended.” Bill held up the investigator’s report. “Maybe it was by this MHIII, Maxwell Higgins III. He wanted to get rid of two birds with one stone: Draco _and_ Ginny.”

* * *

“How do you unhook this thing!”

“I don’t know!” Draco hissed at the redhead. “Why don’t you yell a little louder so someone can come over here and shoot us!”

The two had managed to sneak past security under the cover of night; however, securing a lifeboat was proving to be difficult. Draco had swiped a key earlier that day, but it was taking them longer than they thought to unhook the lock for the cables. Worse yet, it was getting closer to show-time.

“Got it!”

The hook on the cable unlocked with a snap, held in place by the lever.

“You’re a regular thief now,” Ginny said, and Draco rewarded her with a smirk.

“Jealous?”

He offered Ginny his hand and carefully helped her into the boat, throwing her the blankets that they’d need to keep warm. He climbed inside after her and stood up to pull the lever and release the boat into the water, when a bright light shone in their faces.

“Stop right there or I’ll shoot!”

Ginny was about to stand up when Draco pushed her down between the planks. A shot rang out like crack and he grunted, falling heavily on top of her. She could hear shouting and heavy footfalls on the deck and suddenly Draco was picking himself back up and lunging forward to pull the lever.

There was another blast of gunfire and Ginny ducked, feeling an eerie sense of weightlessness in her stomach as the lifeboat plummeted to the ocean. Draco was still standing, pitching backwards off the boat, when she struggled forward and grabbed him by his jacket, yanking him down on top of her.

The lifeboat hit the water with a wet smack and buoyed up, sloshing water up the sides and jolting Draco off Ginny, throwing him onto his back. The blond groaned in pain and rolled over onto his side, holding onto his stomach.

Ginny slowly sat up. She could hear more yelling from above. There was something warm and sticky on her face and hands. She glanced up to see Draco shoring himself up on the bench and grabbing onto the handles of the oars. His jacket was open and she could see a small dark stain on his white shirt.

“Y-you’ve been shot!”

“I know that!” he snapped, pumping his arms to make the boat move. “Now help me row!”

“Are you okay?”

Bullets began to pelt into the water from above, whizzing past their faces, and Draco bellowed, “I said, _row_!”

Ginny scrambled for the oars, plunging the blades into the water. She kept her head low as she kept match with Draco. They sculled until the muscles in her arms burned, until the ship was a mere pinprick on a dark horizon.

Suddenly Draco slumped over on the bench and Ginny dropped the oars in their riggers. She rushed to his side, taking one of the blankets and balling it up underneath his head. The stars and moon offered some light, and she could make out his face: he looked paler than usual. The dark stain on his shirt that had started out as small as a Knut was now roughly the size of her fist.

It was spreading.

Ginny carefully peeled back Draco’s shirt and grimaced at the sight. She had dealt with spell damage before, splinched and broken limbs, but never bullet wounds.

“I’m all right,” he said, weakly swatting her hand away.

Ginny said nothing; just took off her scarf and began wrapping it around his stomach. She dressed his wound as best she could and carefully laid him back down. The bullet hadn’t hit an artery as far as she could tell, but he was steadily losing blood. She began wrapping him in blankets to keep him warm and snuggled up beside him. If the blood loss didn’t kill him, the shock would.

She had just finished curling herself into the blankets with Draco when a loud explosion ruptured the silence, shortly followed by another.

“At least we’re off the ship,” Draco said. He was trembling.

“Only you would make a joke during a time like this,” Ginny said, making sure he was still keeping pressure on the wound. “You remind me of the twins.”

“You take that back!”

She shivered into his side, trying to give him as much of her body heat as possible.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she said quietly.

“So I should have let you get shot?” He craned his neck to look at her. “I’ll remember that for next time. Mental note: let Weasley take the bullet since she’s so keen on bleeding out.”

“Oh, shut it.” She barely resisted the temptation to hit him. He was already in enough pain. “All this blood better not attract sharks.”

“I don’t know what sort of great white shark frenzy you’re expecting here in the ice cold waters of Canada, Weasley, but I think we’re safe this time of the year.”

She grumbled, snuggling closer to him for the warmth. It was freezing outside, but fortunately the seas were relatively calm. The boat rocked gently as they drifted. It was too dark to spot land or the Princess Anne anymore, but she could only assume that the ship had already sunk.

Ginny glanced over at Draco. His head was lolling from shoulder to shoulder; he was struggling to keep awake. She didn’t know how much time they had left before the day started over again, but he wasn’t going to hold out for long unless she kept him conscious.

“Hey.” She gently shook his arm and his eyes startled open. “You need to stay awake.”

He nodded slowly and shifted, wincing with pain as he dug his pocket watch out of his jacket.

“Here, take this.”

He handed her the watch and she checked the time: 2:45 AM. They still had over four hours left. She set the watch on her lap and pulled the blankets tighter around herself and Draco.

“So has this happened before?”

He glanced up at her. “What, getting shot, or are we still talking about sharks?”

“Getting shot,” she said, exasperated. Keeping him conscious was already wearing thin on her patience. “Before you said you’ve been shot—was it for stealing a lifeboat?”

“No, I was shot for an entirely different reason; one involving a bottle of twenty year old Scotch, sheet music, a bedpan and a pair of hosiery.” She lifted an eyebrow at him and he smirked. “Long story.”

He coughed once, then twice, which quickly escalated into a coughing fit. He cleared his throat and spat a wad of bloody phlegm over the boat. She grimaced at the sight.

“As for the lifeboat, I was never able to steal one before,” he said with a wheezy intake of breath. “I was always thwarted in my plans—plans that mainly involved skulking about.”

“Thwarted how?”

“Usually some other bloke was standing around, talking or arguing with one of the sailors. I could never get close.”

Her brow creased in confusion. “Who? I didn’t see anyone else.”

He shivered violently, his teeth clinking loudly in his mouth. “I don’t know. I-I’ve only seen him a handful of times. Weird guy.”

“What was his name?”

“D-didn’t ask.”

Ginny’s frown deepened. Could this other person have been trapped in the painting, too? If so, how was he able to leave? Did the curse have a time-limit or countdown before it expelled those trapped? And did this man leave the painting and return to their world, or did something else happen to him? Something worse?

She wanted to discuss it with Draco, but he didn’t look like he could give her any more information. He was slowly slipping in and out of consciousness, and she needed to keep him awake in order to beat out the clock.

“I don’t see how you’re always so calm,” she said. “Even now.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “You never feel the pain, do you?”

He shook himself awake with a shudder and looked at her askance. “I’m feeling quite a lot right now, actually.”

“That’s not what I meant.” She bit her lip. “Every time we’ve done this, every time we’ve faced death, you’ve always been so... while I...”

She glanced down shamefully. It was funny, really, how strong he was and how weak she’d become. She always thought she was made of sterner stuff.

“You always feel the pain, Weasley,” he croaked. “You just don’t have to fear it.”

She glanced up, staring at him quietly for a moment, before letting out a breathless laugh. “When did you become such a hero?”

“I’m not.” He swallowed painfully and looked away. “I’m still the same cowardly boy you know from school, only handsomer, if you can believe it.”

“I’ll suspend my disbelief,” she said dryly. “But, seriously—you took a bullet for me.”

“Only so I wouldn’t have to endure your incessant whinging.” He shifted uncomfortably and winced. “Look, I’m not a hero, Weasley. I never thought I could be one, never wanted to be one...”

“But?”

He sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe dying so many times alone has changed me. Or maybe it’s because of you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, I’m not sure how much longer I could have held out before you arrived.”

“I dunno.” She smiled awkwardly. “I think you’ve done all right by yourself.”

He snorted. “Are you blind, Weasley? I’m a mess. I drink, I smoke, I get into fist-fights like a Muggle. I’m several stiff drinks away from pushing a trolley full of empty cans down an empty hallway. I’m afraid if I ever get out of here—”

“ _When_ you get out of here.”

He rolled his eyes. “ _When_ I get out of here, I’m going to need some serious counselling. If anything for this annoying martyrdom complex I’ve apparently developed. That and the fact that I’ve been so desperate for companionship that I’ve actually made friends with a Weasley.”

She cocked her head to the side, barely restraining a smile. “Friends, huh?”

“I use the term tenuously,” he said. “After all, friends for a Malfoy just means that I don’t want you dead anytime soon.”

“Nice.”

He actually had the audacity to laugh then, which quickly turned into another phlegmy coughing fit. Blood splattered onto his hand and dribbled down the corners of his mouth. Ginny’s throat went dry at the sight, an audible click as she swallowed. She recovered with some forced alacrity before patting him on the back.

“You’re going to cough up a lung there, Malfoy.”

“Draco,” he rasped between coughs. “Call me Draco.”

“Only if you call me Ginny.” She dabbed at the blood at the corners of his mouth with the edge of one of the blankets before pulling him closer to her. “It has to sound better than the way you drawl my surname.”

“Well, it is an atrocious surname... _Ginny_.”

She rolled her eyes at him. She wanted to be offended but smiled instead. “Yours isn’t that great either, _Draco_.”

“Of course it’s a great name! I’m great.” He leaned into her. “ _You’re_ great.” He paused, his brow furrowing as he wiped a hand across his mouth. “Okay, that last compliment might have been the severe blood loss talking.”

She laughed.

They talked more after that. They talked about Quidditch and their exes; they talked about all the countries they’d travelled to, all the places they’d seen and wanted to see. They talked until he fell asleep, drifting almost peacefully into unconsciousness.

He died before sunrise.

Ginny gently closed his eyes, tracing a cold hand over his cheek before covering him with a blanket. She turned away and swallowed back another damnable lump in her throat. She couldn’t bear to look at him now. Not with dawn approaching.

She stared out to sea, watching the fog roll over the waves. The sky was a dark blue. Slowly, the sun began to rise in the east and she picked up his pocket watch from her lap. She flipped it open: 6:26 AM. Only forty-two more minutes.

Time seemed to creep by agonizingly slow. Draco’s body lay prone next to hers. She couldn’t forget that. Could never forget the sight.

She wondered what would happen if this experiment actually worked. Would she be released from the painting? And what about Draco? Would he be stuck there, forced to repeat the same day over and over again? Would he continue with this living hell? Or would changing the day’s events cause his death to be permanent?

She shuddered at the thought. She didn’t want that. Anything but that.

7:07 AM.

One more minute. One more minute and she’d have her answers.

The sky above was already a pale kaleidoscope of colours as the sun broke through the clouds, casting a shimmering glow on the dark sea. She blinked and, in an instant, it all disappeared. She was staring up at a blank white ceiling.

Ginny sat up in and glanced around fervently. She was in her cabin on the ship. Throwing back the covers, she jumped out of bed and ran out the door. Her bare feet padded along the floor as she ran, the cool air tickling her naked shoulders. She was dressed in nothing but a lace and satin nightdress, and she didn’t care who saw her.

She burst into Draco’s cabin without preamble and sucked in a gasp of relief when she found him sitting on his bunk, staring up at her. He was alive. A small part of her was disappointed that her plan hadn’t worked, that she hadn’t found her way out of the painting; however, a larger, more significant part was greatly relieved that it hadn’t. Because it meant that he was still alive.

She tried to smirk for him, throw him a sarcastic barb; however, when he stood up, her face began to scrunch up, pinching like she was about to cry. She could feel it coming on and she couldn’t fight it.

She wanted nothing more than to hurl herself headlong at him and fall to pieces in his arms. The feeling was somewhere between fear and release, an all-consuming void she could lose herself in if she wasn’t careful. She could lose herself in _him_.

When he began to walk towards her, Ginny already knew she had lost the battle. And into his arms she flew.

* * *


	6. let it snow

There was a fine line between love and hate.

He was always at one point or the other with her; either plonked at the bottom of the ever-changing see-saw or sliding down from the top. It wasn’t in his nature to acknowledge that there was something in between the extremes, that there was a Goldilocks moment somewhere in the middle. But then again, this was _her_ he was thinking about and extremes were what she was all about.

He, on the other hand, knew well that there was a halcyon point. He had lived there once, sitting on the calm island of his mind. Now he watched the swirling winds that were her emotions. The eye of the storm was her domain and her kingdom and, after some prying, he’d admit that he’d rather like her there.

She was unpredictable like a summer storm.

It was always a never-ending battle with them: she the unpredictable force and he the solemn inertia. She sought to move him as she herself was moved; he sought to remain in between the poles of love and hate. But the longer she remained in his orbit, the more she wore him down.

In the end, it all added up to a state of equilibrium; somewhere not quite left or right or even in the middle, but lost somewhere in between. He found himself being pulled into her orbit now; and before long, he both hated and loved her. There was no middle point anymore, no happy centre of apathy. There was merely annoyance, at himself for allowing her to pick him back up and at her for ever setting him back down in this world of light and sound and extremes.

She had breathed life back into him.

* * *

**27 April 2008  
Tracey Davis’s Cottage  
Somerset, England**

 

A knock on the door startled Tracey awake. She had been close to dozing off at her dining room table and the side of her face was resting on a stack of parchment. She lifted her head and a few pieces of paper came with her, stuck to her cheek and chin with drool. She peeled them away with a grimace.

“Trace?” There was another knock, louder and more distinct. “You in?”

“Yeah, just a sec!” She wiped the sleep from her eyes and reached for her wand under the parchment, unlocking the door with a flick of her wrist. “Come on in, Bill.”

Bill opened the door and peeked inside, tossing Tracey a cheerful hello and a disarming smile. She couldn’t help but smile back. The man was effortlessly charming. The more time she spent with him, the more she understood why Fleur was so hopelessly in love with him. She could only hope to find someone like him someday.

The eldest Weasley closed the door behind him and he entered the foyer, carrying the covered painting with him. He set it against the wall and took off his mac, hanging it on the coat rack before turning towards Tracey.

“Thanks for letting me store this here.” He motioned to the painting and began to take off his shoes. “I really appreciate it.”

“No problem.” She picked up a quill. “Besides, it’s too dangerous to be around your children.”

“Do you need me to put it somewhere?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Nah. I’ll find a place for it later.”

Slipping his hands into his pockets, Bill joined Tracey in the dining room. He glanced down at the pieces of parchment scattered across the table. The copy of Draco’s living will lay on top.

“How’s that going?” he asked.

Both had been working tirelessly since Ginny’s disappearance. They had tried to get some information out of Auror Dean Rogen, but that was a no-go. The wizard was certifiable. There was no telling when he’d be competent enough to stand questioning, and they didn’t have the luxury of time.

Bill had sent out feelers to locate Higgins while Tracey tried to discover who had sent the painting to Draco. Kingsley could offer them little assistance since Draco had disappeared before he could make a report. There had been a number of suspects within the Ministry but no viable proof. Without discovering who sent the painting, there was even less of a chance finding Higgins, who had the money and the resources to go into hiding for decades.

“It’s going terrible.” Tracey sighed dejectedly. “I’m rubbish at these sorts of things. I used a Revealing Charm and everything.” She threw down her quill. “Nada.”

“Mind if I take a look?”

She motioned to the parchment. “Be my guest.”

Bill took the seat next to her and she passed him the paper. He looked over it for a total of five minutes before a light seemed to switch on above his head.

“Looks like he went old-school with a cipher,” Bill said.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a book cipher,” he said, pointing to the paper. “See these numeric sub-headings with the tick marks next to them?”

Tracey stood up and looked over his shoulder. It was true; there were marks. She thought they were revision checks. As for all the sub-headings, she assumed Draco was being his usual anal-retentive self.

“Each number refers to a page number, and the letters beside the numbers, which are capitalised, are also numeric,” Bill explained. “You know—A equals 1, B equals 2, E equals 5, and so on.”

Numbers. Maths. He might as well have been speaking Chinese.

Bill must have seen the confused and constipated look on Tracey’s face, for he quickly chose to clarify. “For example, 15C would be page 15, the third capitalised letter on that page.”

“Oh, okay.” That made a lot more sense. “How do we decode it, then?”

“In order to find the cipher, we need the key.”

“Key?”

“A book. It’s used as a guide to read the text. It’d be something that’s easily accessible. A book that everyone would own...” He glanced up at her. “Do you happen to have any books here?”

“I have some old books from school in my room.” A sheepish look stole over her face. “I haven’t unpacked them yet.”

Bill smiled. “It’s all right. You’re allowed several years to unpack.”

“Smartarse,” she muttered. “I’ll go get them.”

Tracey returned a few minutes later with a large box. She set it on the table and opened it. There were mostly textbooks inside. Bill seized the dictionary first but, after skimming the pages, found nothing. He went back through the textbooks, stacking them in piles, when he found one that caught his interest; one he had seen in every home, including his parents’ and his own.

_A History of Magic._

He set down the book and grabbed a quill and piece of parchment. As he went through each marked page number and letter, he was able to spell two words:

 

**W. I. L. L. I. A. M.  W. R. I. G. H. T.**

 

“William Wright?” Tracey read aloud, plopping down on the chair next to Bill. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

“He works in the Archives at the Ministry,” Bill said. “My father’s dealt with him a few times, before and after the war.” He shot Tracey a pointed look. “He’s the sort that wishes he were a pureblood.”

“Ah, one of _those_.” She undid her ponytail and ran her fingers through her long dark hair. “You think he’s the one that hired Higgins to get rid of Draco?”

“Appears so.” Bill leaned back in the chair and sighed. “Now all we have to do is tell Kingsley about Wright, and maybe he can tell us more about the painting.”

“And then we _convince_ him to help us find Higgins.” Tracey smacked her fist against her palm with a sly grin, and Bill chortled.

“That’s one very Slytherin way of putting it.”

Tracey pulled her hair back into a ponytail. “So we find Higgins and we might just find a way to get Draco and Ginny out of that painting, right?”

“In theory.”

Tracey gave a determined nod. She hadn’t felt this optimistic in days. Now she could only hope that when they found the bastard, he would talk.

* * *

After the lifeboat incident, Ginny had put a temporary pin in the loophole plan. Instead of exhausting herself with escape plans, she and Draco had spent the last three days having fun, or what constituted for fun on an inevitably sinking ship. They drank, they danced. Draco even taught her how to play Poker, although he refused to teach her how fist-fight like a Muggle, despite her pouty protests.

The three days hadn’t been spent entirely slacking off. They discussed different strategies, ways they could avoid being shot at, blown up or sent to the brig. Ginny had suggested that one of them pretend to be sick or wound the other in order to have the captain turn the ship around to seek medical help; however, Draco quickly pointed out that they had a doctor on board. Plus, they were unlikely to turn back if he was shot, and he was very adamant that he would never shoot her.

Eventually, Ginny suggested that they physically commandeer the ship. After all, when they had alerted the crew to the presence of a U-boat nearby, it had somewhat altered events. Of course it just resulted in the ship getting torpedoed sooner, but it was something. They had to try _something_.

Draco had agreed to the plan, on the condition that Ginny provided a distraction so that he could access the engine room, as opposed to the helm where he’d likely be shot on sight. Ginny had agreed right away, not knowing that the distraction would involve her performing some off-key singing and dancing on stage.

So later that night, Ginny gave her grand début. Her caterwauling had drawn the attention of passengers and crew alike. Even the engineers showed up, which provided Draco with the opportunity to sneak into the engine room and manually reset the compass, steering them northwards to Newfoundland.

Everything had gone according to plan and the festivities lasted well into the night. Just before 2 AM, Ginny was finally able to escape her adoring fans and join Draco up on deck where he was waiting for her. He looked the same way he had when she’d seen him on that first night; leaning casually against the railing and smoking a cigarette. Cool and detached; a face of marble hiding a haunted secret.

“I hate you more than you can possibly understand,” she all but growled at him. Her voice was still hoarse from the singing.

Draco just chuckled. “What? You did well.”

“Bah.” She stole his cigarette and took a puff to calm her nerves. She might have been an adrenaline junky, but stage fright only made her nauseous. “Wait a tick!” Her gaze snapped up to meet his, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. “How would you know I did well? Were you—were you watching?”

Draco plucked the cigarette from her fingers and took a drag. “I caught the tail-end of your performance.” He exhaled a cloud of smoke with a smirk. “I rather liked your rendition of _Let It Snow_.”

“Hey, it was the only song I knew that they’d have sheet music to!” She pointed an accusing finger at him. “And you’re the one who recommended it!”

“I know.” His voice was almost gentle. “We’ll have to sing it together sometime.”

“Not likely.” She harrumphed loudly and folded her arms beneath her breasts. “I’m never doing that again.”

“Never say never.”

A strong wind blew through then, whipping at their hair and turning up their collars. The moon and stars were quickly shrouded in clouds, completely blackening the night. Not a moment later, the sky opened up with rain and Ginny rushed towards the main entrance, ducking under the alcove for shelter.

Draco took one last drag of his cigarette before flicking the spent fag over the ship. Flipping up the collar of his wool jacket, he leisurely strolled over to Ginny. He ducked under the roof and stood beside her, safe out of the rain.

“A squall.” He held out his hand and caught fat raindrops. “This is new.”

The wind picked up, bringing with it a loud peel of thunder, and Ginny jumped. Her fingers found Draco’s jacket and she tugged him in front of her like a shield. There was another loud clap and she buried her face into his back. It was broad and warm, smelling of smoke and musk. Smelling of him.

Suddenly Draco’s body began to tremble and Ginny let go. Trepidation crept into her features as she glanced up at the back of his head. His back was hunched slightly and his shoulders were shaking violently. She touched his arm and was about to ask him what was wrong, when he let out a strangled laugh.

He was laughing!

Ginny’s look of concern quickly morphed into indignant anger. “What’s so funny?”

“You,” he said between laughs. “After all you’ve been through this week, after all the danger you’ve faced as a Curse-Breaker, and you’re afraid of a little rain.”

“I’m not afraid of the _rain_ ,” she snarled, before lowering her head somewhat sheepishly. “I’m afraid of the thunder and lightning that accompany the rain.”

He laughed louder at this and her lips twisted into a terrific pout.

“What? It’s a childhood thing!”

“Ah, yes, a _childhood thing_. Like being afraid of the dark.” His laughter died down and he took out another cigarette and lit it. “Something we never quite grow out of.”

He said nothing else after that, just stared out into the infinite darkness, listening to the wind and the rain. He continued to stand in front of her, protecting her from the storm, and Ginny’s anxiety slowly began to deflate. Her body began to relax and she let out a quiet sigh of relief. For some inexplicable reason, she always felt a little safer in his presence. Not calmer or saner, just marginally safer.

After a while the rain began to taper off, but the wind only howled louder. It was colder out now, and Ginny began to shiver, reflex making her pull her fur jacket closer. A feathery mist marked her breath, barely visible before the air drank it.

“And now it’s snowing,” Draco said, holding out his hand to catch the wet snowflakes. “We’ve seem to have entered some sort of weather vortex.”

“I guess we’ve officially gone off-course,” she said hopefully.

“I guess so.”

Ginny shivered again, slipping her hands into her pockets. She had always been rather sensitive to the cold. She wished she had gone back to her cabin for a winter cap and a pair of gloves. She wished for a lot of things.

She looked up at Draco’s back again. She had never realised before how broad it was or how tall he was; so much taller than her. His blond hair was like a beacon in the night, a halo when the moon came out from behind the clouds again. He wasn’t terribly handsome as he liked to claim, but he was striking. His features were a little too feminine, his skin a little too pale and smooth to be considered rugged, but at times he almost seemed... beautiful.

Ginny had never found him all that attractive at Hogwarts because of his attitude, but now she wasn’t quite so sure. He had changed. He said it was because of being alone on this ship, dying so many times, but she was beginning to think that the change might have begun before then, before all of this.

“What made you join the Ministry?”

Draco slowly turned to face her, a cigarette dangling from his pink lips. Snow dusted his already pale hair and the moon behind them cast a white glow on his skin. He looked almost ethereal. In reality, he was anything but.

“What made you become a Curse-Breaker?” he volleyed back, and she glared at him.

“Don’t answer a question with another question. It’s rude, and annoying.” When he only stared at her pointedly, Ginny crossed her arms over her chest with a huff. “All right, fine. I joined because of the adventure; the thrill of finding buried treasure.”

“Cause your family could use the money, right?”

She rolled her eyes. “How did I not see that insult coming?”

“Was that a rhetorical question?”

“Obviously.” She dropped her arms and shrugged. “By the by, I let you get that one in.”

“My, how generous of you.”

“Not at all.”

He smirked, dropping his cigarette to the deck and crushing it with his heel. “You sound like an adrenaline junky to me, Ginny. When did it start? Let me guess: the war.”

She lifted an eyebrow at him.

“It changed you, right? Made it so that you couldn’t go back to living an ordinary, sedentary life. You needed your action and adventure.” He stepped in closer. “Am I right?”

She gazed up into his eyes and swallowed hard with a nod. “Yeah. I thought that’s what I wanted.”

“But there’s too much adventure on here, eh?”

“Too much death.” She feathered her fingers through her hair with a sigh. “So are you going to tell me what changed _you_ after the war?”

“I’d be more than happy to regale you with the tale,” he said, “if we get out of this alive.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

He smirked. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” He pulled out his pocket watch and flipped it open. “Speaking of being alive, check out the time.”

He held it out for her to read: 2:26 AM. Ten minutes past the deadline.

“Do you think it worked?” Hope sang in her breast like a song. “Do you think we’ve changed the course of events?”

“Have we found your loophole?” Draco shrugged, snapping the lid shut. “I don’t know. I guess we’ll find out in five hours.”

Ginny’s stomach rolled in mutinous waves. It was the same sort of nervous apprehension she felt before a big dig—one that she knew would be dangerous.

It was battle nausea.

She was nervous but excited. She didn’t want to get her hopes up. She didn’t want to get Draco’s hopes up, either. But still... However, when the blond began singing _Let It Snow_ , all bets were off.

Ginny allowed herself to smile a hopeful smile.

* * *

Wright had been taken in custody right away where, under interrogation, had folded faster than a centaur on laundry day.

He had admitted to everything, from stealing confiscated Dark Artefacts to hiring freelance treasure hunters to find cursed objects for him, all on the Ministry’s dime. It didn’t take much to make him give up the name of his accomplice; the one who had sent Draco the cursed painting simply known as _The Princess Anne_.

Maxwell Higgins III.

The only problem now was finding the wizard. He’d never come out of hiding if Bill or anyone from the Ministry called on his help. However, he might come sniffing if he was offered another job, another lucrative treasure hunt.

They had the bait. Now all they needed was to find the right lure.

* * *

Ginny sat beside Draco on the bunk. Both were silent. Ginny’s hands were in her lap; her eyes were downcast.

The plan had worked... sort of.

The compass had taken the ship off course, just close enough to land to dissuade the U-boat from attacking. It had taken a while for the crew to notice they had gone off-course before they recalibrated the engines and re-charted their destination. Of course by then, Draco and Ginny had woken up in their respective cabins again.

7:08 AM; December 7th, 1941.

When Ginny woke up, she had gone straight to Draco’s cabin. He was waiting for her. Needless to say, she was disheartened. She realised that changing the course of events or even living through the day unscathed didn’t get them out of the painting, which meant that there was no loophole.

“What if we don’t find a way out?” She picked at her fingernails. “What if we’re stuck here forever?”

“I thought Gryffindors were optimists,” he drawled.

“We’re not in school anymore, Draco.”

“Yeah, well, you’re the Curse-Breaker.” He leaned back on the bunk, supporting his weight on his forearms. “Think of a plan.”

She shook her head with a sigh. “If it were only that easy.”

“Maybe it is, but you’re just allowing yourself to be mired down by a few failed plans. Not everything works perfectly the first or second time around.” When she shot him a pointed look, he shrugged with a grin. “Or the ninth.”

Ginny let out a frustrated breath before running her fingers through her hair. “But we’ve changed it so that the ship is never sunk, so that everyone lives, and still we wake up _here_ —the same time, the same day; over and over.” She shook head. “There’s no loophole. There’s no way off here.”

“Not with a pissy attitude like that.”

Draco sat up and placed his elbows on his knees, holding his head in his hands. He stayed this way for a moment before exhaling a sigh. He released his head and looked at her, his expression naked.

“Look, it pains me to admit this, but you’re smart. If anyone can think of a way to get us out of here, it’s you. So stop feeling sorry for yourself and _think_ of a plan.”

Ginny flinched at his words. She was shocked at first, then angry. Or at least she wanted to be angry. No one spoke to her like that, but he was right. His rude tone aside, Draco’s words weren’t misguided or false. Ginny needed to stop feeling sorry for herself, but as for coming up with a plan, she was stumped. Since the loophole theory was a bust, she wasn’t sure what to look for now, except for the unusual and out of the ordinary.

Suddenly, a thought came to mind.

“Hey, that guy—the one who used to hang around the lifeboats—you never saw him again, did you?”

Draco shook his head. “No.”

“Before, you told me that no one here is real, except us. Owens, Vincent—they don’t realise that they’re trapped, reliving the same day. They’re caricatures, characters in a painting. They act according to their pre-established roles. The bartender, the sailor, the bodyguard. They don’t deviate from those roles...”

“Except that one guy who went missing,” Draco said.

“We can’t assume we’re the only ones trapped here, or _were_ at some point,” Ginny said. “And we can’t rule out that the wizard who made this painting didn’t put in a way to get out.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying we’re not looking for a loophole. We’re looking for an anchor.”

“An anchor?”

“Something put in the painting that connects this world to ours.”

Draco’s brow bunched over his eyes in thought. “So it’s like a portal?”

“Yes, I think so.”

Draco smiled. He actually looked hopeful. Ginny, however, wasn’t feeling so optimistic.

“It’ll be like looking for a needle in a haystack,” she warned. “We’ll have to search the entire ship. Who knows how long it will take us to find it?”

“It’s better than giving up, isn’t it?”

Ginny shrugged. “I guess.”

She couldn’t help but feel a little dejected. Draco seemed to sense this, but he didn’t give her one of his winning pep talks this time around. Instead, he shifted on the bunk, causing the mattress to dip, and pushed his back against the wall.

“I joined the Ministry to reclaim my wand,” he said quietly.

“What?”

Ginny turned and looked at him oddly.

“My wand,” he repeated, holding up his thumb and index finger as if her were holding it. “Hawthorn, about ten inches in length, very pliable with a unicorn core.”

“Yes, fine.” She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “What about it?”

“Last night you wanted to know what changed me after the war; why I joined the Ministry.” He shrugged. “I did it to reclaim my wand.”

Ginny blinked at him in confusion. Was he trying to cheer her up? If so, it wasn’t working.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “How would joining the Ministry help you reclaim it? And why does it need to be reclaimed?”

He sighed. “You probably already know this, but Potter Disarmed me at the Manor and won my wand. Because of that, its allegiance shifted to him. Of course he gave it back me after the war, but it never did quite work the same for me again. I got a new one made and it’s all right, I guess, but it’s nothing like my old one.”

Ginny dropped her gaze and nodded slowly. She understood that. She couldn’t imagine using another wand. However, she still didn’t understand how he could reclaim it.

“Okay, but how would working for the Ministry help you reclaim it?”

A somewhat guilty expression stole over Draco’s features and he shrugged. “Well, I was thinking if I helped the Ministry out, they might owe me. Maybe convince Potter to engage in a duel to win my wand back.”

“Makes sense, I guess.” Ginny drew her legs up onto the bunk and tucked her feet beneath her bottom with a grin. “Personally, I’d love to watch that duel.”

“Of course you would.” Draco picked up a pillow and tossed it at her. She caught it easily. “You’d just love to see your beloved Potter wipe the floor with me.”

“Who said I’d be rooting for Harry?”

Ginny’s grin sharpened conspiratorially and she threw the pillow back, beaming Draco in the head. He lowered the pillow with a dazed look on his face and she couldn’t help but laugh.

Draco shook his head and placed the pillow in his lap. “Anyway, after a while I didn’t care as much about my wand. I actually liked what I was doing. Making a difference, you know?”

She nodded.

“But at the same time, I absolutely hated it. It was dangerous and lonely, and then one day I wound up here.” He met her gaze. “I’d almost given up hope before you came along. I saw you on that stage and you were... you were like a beacon, a vision. Thought I’d gone mad. Of course I realised if I were imagining things, then why would I imagine _you_?”

Ginny threw him a nasty glare and he genuinely smiled at her. It was a boyish smile, tender and sweet and not at all like him. It made her stomach flutter.

“But you saved me that night. You gave me hope.” He leaned forward and placed his hand on top of hers. “So I’m going to give that back to you.”

Ginny looked down at his hand on hers. It felt so warm and soft. Comforting. _Safe_. She glanced up and met his gaze, and he held it. The butterflies were multiplying in her stomach; breeding.

He wasn’t supposed to make her feel this way. She didn’t know what to do. A small part of her wanted to bolt and leave a Ginny-sized cut-out in the bulkhead. But then his grip on her hand tightened, giving it a little squeeze that went straight to her heart.

“We’ll find a way out,” he said. “I think we’re both determined enough.”

She swallowed tightly. “And I think you have a very good chance of winning your wand back.”

Draco’s eyes widened in surprise at first, and then he snorted softly. “Yeah, and how’s that?”

“The core of your wand is unicorn hair,” she said. “Their faithful wands, pure like the unicorn itself.”

He laughed bitterly. “I’m not pure.”

“But you’re not evil, either.” She brushed her thumb over his. “You would have never been able to have such a wand in the first place.”

“What are you saying?”

She smiled. “I think the shift in allegiance was only temporary. You just had to earn back the pureness of the wand, the pureness of its core.”

Draco said nothing in response, just slid his fingers in between hers. They held hands that way for a long time, until what felt like hours. And after that morning, Ginny never had to ask if she could stay with him again. He wouldn’t let her leave his side.

* * *

Maxwell Higgins sat at the table in the interrogation room.

He looked bored.

Kingsley had set up a sting operation to catch the rogue Curse-Breaker, with Wright as an accomplice. Wright had agreed on the condition that his treason charges be dropped and his prison time shortened. The Minister had consented to the plea deal and Wright managed to get a hold of Higgins through improper channels, arranging for a business transaction.

Once on the scene, Higgins had caught on rather quickly that it was a set-up. He would have got away if one of the Aurors hadn’t thrown an anti-Apparition spell on him. Pinned down in an alleyway with Aurors blocking all exits, the Curse-Breaker had nowhere to go. He surrendered immediately.

Now Bill stood on the other side of the glass, watching Higgins stifle a yawn. He wanted to walk in there and use the Cruciatus Curse on the smug bastard, but even if Kingsley had given him permission to use an Unforgivable, it wouldn’t guarantee a confession. Higgins wouldn’t give him what he wanted, so he’d have to approach the wizard from a different angle.

“Tracey, I want you to come in once he makes a slip.”

She nodded. “Got it.”

“How do you know he’ll confess?” Kingsley asked.

“Because he’s an arrogant bastard,” Bill said. “He revels in one-upping people, especially my sister. He’ll allude to being behind this because he seeks the attention, and because he thinks he’ll get away with it.”

Bill looked over at Tracey and their eyes met, conveying an unspoken message. He grabbed his folders and walked into the interrogation room. Higgins looked genuinely surprised to see the eldest Weasley, as well as smugly entertained.

“Bill Weasley, what are you doing here? I didn’t know you worked for the Ministry.” He glanced up at the two-way mirror and smirked. “Where’s that lovely sister of yours?”

“You would know, wouldn’t you?”

Higgins had the audacity to feign a look of concern. “You sound troubled, Weasley. Has little Ginevra gone missing?” He tsked loudly. “It was bound to happen sooner or later, you know. Dangerous business we’re in.”

“One business you’re about to be out of soon,” Bill said, taking the seat across from the wizard. “We both know that Gringotts doesn’t take kindly to moonlighting.”

Higgins shrugged. “Oh well. I guess they’ll have to cancel my contract. There are plenty of other jobs out there.”

“Like freelance treasure hunting for William Wright?”

Bill slapped down a folder and opened it, revealing a photograph of Mr Wright. Higgins barely glanced at it.

“Is that the wizard who’s trying to get me in trouble?” he asked, wiping his hand along the surface of the table. “Made me the fall-man, did he?”

Bill smiled. “Higgins, have you gone humble on me? You’ve never been the sort to let others take credit for your work.”

Higgins said nothing, and Bill spread out another folder. He spun it around and opened it so that the wizard could read it.

“I have a signed confession here from Mr Wright that states you were hired by him to deliver a painting to Draco Malfoy.” He withdrew the photograph of the painting and slid it towards Higgins. “A cursed painting created by your grandfather, Maxwell Higgins I.”

Higgins glanced down at the photograph. A muscle worked in his jaw like a tick and he pushed the photograph back towards Bill.

“I’ve never seen this painting you’re talking about, Weasley. My grandfather wasn’t a Dark Wizard.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Higgins snorted inelegantly. “Is that all you have? A confession from a convicted wizard who’d say anything to lighten his sentence?” He pushed the folder away. “You have nothing.”

“I do have a signed affidavit from Lucius Malfoy, stating that he hired you to locate his son, Draco.” Bill opened the third folder and showed Higgins the copy. “It also says here that when you failed to find his son, you recommended Ginny Weasley.” He smiled smugly. “She is the _best_ after all, isn’t she?”

Higgins sneered. “That’s debatable.”

“Oh, I’m sure it is.”

“So what now?” Higgins barked impatiently. “You’ve got nothing on me except the word of two criminals.”

“You’re right.” Bill gathered his folders. “However, I’m not here to charge you with anything.”

Higgins’s brow creased. “You’re not?”

“No, I just wanted to inform you that I’ll be requesting your termination at Gringotts.” Bill stood up. “The Ministry should be questioning you shortly, to corroborate Wright’s testimony.”

“So that’s it?” He looked unconvinced. “You don’t want to ask about your sister?”

“Why? What could you tell me?” Bill shrugged. “Besides, I’m not too worried. Ginny’s a brilliant Curse-Breaker. You should know that. I have every confidence that we’ll see again her soon.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Bill turned to look at him. “Why, do you know where she is?”

“Maybe.”

Bill shook his head with a condescending smirk. “You couldn’t find Draco, Higgins. I highly doubt you know where my sister is. She was always three steps ahead of you.”

Higgins’s neck flushed red with anger. “Yeah? Well this time I was several steps ahead of _her_.” He leaned forward in his chair, a nasty sneer angled across his mouth. “You’re never going to see your sister again, Weasley. She’ll never get out.”

The door to the interrogation room swung open then and Tracey stepped inside. “Ah, but Auror Dean Rogen got out, didn’t he?”

She was carrying a covered canvas, which she set on the table directly in front of Higgins. The wizard quickly shifted his seat back, the metal legs scraping loudly along the tile. He eyed the painting warily before snapping his eyes up to Bill’s.

“I won’t tell you a thing.”

“You don’t need to,” Tracey said, taking a seat on the edge of the table.

Higgins swallowed thickly and the room went silent.

Bill turned back to the table, running a finger along the covered painting. “You know, you and your grandfather are a lot alike. Except while you steal treasures, he created them. Dark treasures, that is. He created this painting here—” he tapped it with his index finger “—to imprison his enemies. To imprison someone like Dean Rogen.

“But your grandfather was an inquisitive wizard, calculating. He couldn’t just assume that the portal in the painting worked; he had to test it. But he had to add a way to get out of the painting, in case he were to accidentally trap himself. A fail-safe plan that only he’d know.”

“And maybe he’d share that secret with his grandson,” Tracey added. “Someone who was so like himself.”

Higgins looked back and forth between the two, glaring.

Bill picked up the painting and set it upright on the table. “You see, the thing is, Higgins—I don’t need you to tell me anything.”

Bill ripped the covering off from behind and watched as Higgins’s eyes went round like saucer plates. Unable to turn away, the wizard was already reaching out to touch the canvas.

“Because you’re going to bring Ginny back for me.”

* * *


	7. hearts break loose

She was like a wave breaking on a rock. And like a wave when it broke upon a rock, it showered and sparkled like droplets of water in the sun. Yet beneath that dazzle was a hard rock fused with, in her case, unwavering principles, steadfast courage and a strong sense of duty.

He wouldn’t have had her any other way.

* * *

It was another Sunday night. Draco had taken a break from playing the piano and grabbed a bottle of whisky from Owens, hustling Ginny to a secluded table behind the bar, away from the smoke and noise. They were discussing possible anchors—again.

Ginny took a sip of her water and rolled it along her tongue, swallowed, and picked up a pen. “I think we can narrow down the list.”

“Oh yeah?” Draco held up his tumbler of whisky, balancing a cigarette between his fingers. “How’s that?”

“Process of elimination, of course.” She dipped her finger in her glass and flicked him in the face. “The anchor is likely to be something painted in the original scene.”

Draco wiped his face with the back of his hand and glowered. “So you’re saying it’s in the ballroom somewhere?”

“I’m hoping so.” Ginny sucked on her finger and hummed thoughtfully. “Do you remember much about the painting?”

“Nah, not really. It’s kind of fuzzy.” He took a healthy swig of his drink. “I sort of remember the piano and the dancers, but not much else.”

Ginny sighed. “Yeah, same here.”

She didn’t remember much. Her memory was hazy at best. She wasn’t sure if this was because it had been so long that she forgot or if it was part of the spell. To be honest, Ginny felt like her memory got a little muddled every day. It would explain why finding a way out of the painting was so difficult—you eventually forgot everything and lost interest.

“Still—” Draco shrugged “—it’s a good place to start.” He raised his drink to her in salutations. “Good work.”

Ginny bobbed her head almost shyly, glancing up at Draco through her lashes. He was still looking at her with that hopeful expression that made her weak in the knees. For a brief second she had an amazingly strong urge to bolt, but then those eyes of his fixed on hers and she was caught. They were such striking grey eyes, under-tinted with an even lighter grey. They were like clouds drifting across a smoky sky.

She was undone.

“So what do we do?” Draco took a drag of his cigarette and pointed to the paper underneath Ginny’s hand. “Write a list of everything we see in here?”

“Uh, yeah.” She cleared her throat and looked away. “Pretty much.”

Draco set down his drink and scooted in closer, his arm brushing hers. Ginny bit her lip and tried her best not to squirm. She felt like a silly teenager with a crush. It was frustrating.

Shrugging it off, she picked up her pen and was about to ask Draco what he wanted to add to the list when the room seemed to dim and the stage lights went up. They both turned and glanced up at the stage to see a man standing there in front of a microphone. He hadn’t even said a word and the entire room erupted in applause. It was deafening.

“Who the hell is that?” Draco yelled to Ginny over the din. “They’re acting like he’s the bloody Prime Minister.”

It was almost surreal, Ginny had to admit, and entirely new. Nothing like this had happened before, except when she arrived from the painting?

“Looks like someone else touched the painting,” she said.

The applause was still going strong. A few even began to crowd around the stage. Ginny leaned as far out as she could, but she still couldn’t see who it was. She and Draco were seated too far back and their view of the stage was partially obscured by the bar. Although Ginny was almost certain that she saw the captain up on the stage with the stranger. His bushy white eyebrows and moustache were dead giveaways.

Frustrated, Ginny finally scooted past Draco and stood up. It’d be easier to see who it was if she got a bit closer. Maybe it was Bill or Ron or even Harry. Someone must have come through to find her.

She tried to make her way through the packed crowd, but as small as Ginny was, she could find no leeway. Soon enough, Draco grabbed her hand and led in front, clearing a path for her.

When they got close enough, Ginny could immediately tell that the stranger on stage wasn’t Bill or any of her brothers. The man was somewhat short but sturdy, with a build like Charlie’s. He had dark, wavy hair streaked with silver along the temples, a dimpled chin and a thin white scar that cut diagonally across his right eyebrow.

Ginny’s blood ran cold.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” The captain grandly gestured to the other man on stage. “Lord Maxwell Higgins!”

The crowd erupted in an encore of thunderous applause and Draco raised a questioning eyebrow. Ginny answered his eyebrow language with a resounding,

“That son of a bitch! I’m gonna kill him!”

The redhead almost climbed over top of Draco to get to the aforementioned son of a bitch when the blond grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her away from the crowd. He pulled her back to their table and sat her down.

“Settle down,” he ordered.

“Don’t tell me to settle down!” She wrested her wrist from his grasp and pointed angrily at the stage. “That’s the bastard who got us trapped in here in the first place!”

“I know that!” He sat down beside her and leaned in close. “But try not to be a Weasley for one second and keep a level head.”

Ginny’s eyes snapped up to meet his, wild with indignation. “Oh, this head of mine is level, mister.”

“Hardly.” He rolled his eyes. “Now c’mon, we need to play this smart.”

“No, what I need is to go over there and start breaking bones until he tells us how to get out of here!”

“You know for a smart person, you can be rather stupid,” Draco drawled. “He’s not going to tell us how to get out of here, no matter what we do to him. What we need to do is watch him, cause if anyone knows how to get out of here, it’s him.”

Ginny took a deep breath. “So we watch him and see how he gets out of the painting?”

“Exactly,” Draco said, touching his shoulder to hers. “We lie low and observe him from afar.”

“All right, fine.” Ginny’s eyes travelled back up to the stage, narrowing as she watched people line up to shake Higgins’s hand. “We do it your way... for now.”

* * *

Maxwell Higgins was not impressed.

Everything had gone to pot the moment Davis brought that damn painting into the room. He thought he had the upper hand with Weasley. He thought he was being terribly clever. But then that idiot ginger ripped off the covering and Higgins found himself being sucked inside the bloody painting.

Now he was stuck on a ship and surrounded by a bunch of inbred dullards who wanted to shake his hand. Not that he didn’t mind the ego-boost. However, he really didn’t have time for any of this. He had to find the anchor and get the hell out of there.

He had spotted Ginny earlier; watched as she was dragged away from the crowd by a blond man who he could only assume was Draco Malfoy. They were keeping their distance and that was fine by him. Unfortunately, Higgins knew Ginny. Right now she was plotting and very likely scheming, trying to figure out a way to get a hold of him. She wanted out of the painting just like he did, but he wanted to keep her here. He wanted to keep them both here; but how?

“She quite the looker, ain’t she?”

Higgins glanced over at the sailor standing beside him. “Who?”

“Miss Weasley over there.” The sailor pointed back over at the table with a grin. “Pretty as a rose, she is.”

“I suppose,” Higgins drawled blithely, “if you’re not especially discerning in your tastes.”

The sailor ignored the slight, narrowing his eyes on the blond sitting next to the redhead. “It’s a damn shame that she spends all her time with that lily-livered Malfoy. I dunno wot she sees in ’im. He’s a coward and a spy, from wot I’ve heard.”

“A spy?” Higgins’s gaze went back to the duo and an ugly smirk curled at the corner of his lips. “Excuse me a moment.”

He left the sailor and parted his way through the dwindling crowd. Most had gone back to their drinks and dancing. He found the captain conversing with a few guests, and so Higgins lightly tapped the elderly man on the shoulder.

“Captain, if I could have a moment of your time.”

“Of course.” The whiskers of his white moustache tickled his upper lip as he smiled genially. “What is it, Lord Higgins?”

“That man over there sitting with the redhead.” He pointed to Draco. “Do you know him?”

The captain’s bushy eyebrows creased in a frown. “I believe he’s the pianist, sir. Uh, Draco Malfoy.”

“So he’s using his mother’s maiden name,” Higgins murmured loudly, stroking his chin for effect.

“Sir?”

“That man’s real name is Draco Schröder,” Higgins said gravely. “He’s a German spy. Him and his wench, over there.”

“Miss Weasley?” The captain shook his head. “No, not her.”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”

Higgins sighed pitifully with a shake of his head. He was putting on a good show, if he did say so himself.

“They’re why I’m here, you see. I followed them onto the ship and was going to wait until we docked to arrest them, but I’m worried that they’ve recognised me with all this hullabaloo and will now try to escape.” He exhaled a sigh. “Captain, I’d like them arrested and thrown into the brig.”

“I—yes, of course, Lord Higgins.”

The captain then ordered several of his men to approach the table. A moment later there was a loud uproar when one of the sailors grabbed Ginny by the arm and pulled her away.

The entire room went silent.

“Let go of me!” she demanded, using all of her strength to break free. “Let go!”

“Unhand her!” Draco bellowed, struggling forward as two sailors pinned his arms behind his back. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“You’re being detained,” one of the sailors said.

“On whose authority?”

“Lord Maxwell Higgins’s.”

Ginny’s head snapped back and forth as she searched the crowd, her red hair swishing in her face. Then her eyes met her former partner’s and narrowed dangerously.

“You!” she seethed. “You bastard!”

Higgins kept his expression impassive, but a dark satisfaction rang through him as he watched the crew drag Draco and Ginny away.

“I will _end_ you!” she screamed. “Do you hear me, Higgins? _End_ you!”

He turned away, allowing himself a smile as Ginny’s threats faded down the hall. With the two stooges finally subdued and detained, he’d have the freedom to search for the anchor. If he could only remember what it was...

* * *

Ginny angrily paced the length of her cell.

“That rat-face bastard!” She clenched her hands into fists, imagining she was crushing Higgins’s windpipe. “If only I had my wand! Oh, how I’d show him! I’d show him _good_!”

“Weasley, focus!”

Draco voice rang out from across the room, snapping Ginny out of her rant, and she spun around to face him. The blond was pressed up against the cell, gripping tightly onto the bars. He was sporting a black eye, a cut on his cheek and a bloodied lip courtesy of a few zealous sailors.

“I need you to go to left corner of your cell.”

She blinked at him curiously for a second before obeying.

“Your _other_ left,” he said dryly, when she went the wrong way. “Do you see a metal pin there on the ground?”

Ginny scanned the floor, eventually spotting something small and cylindrical. She bent down, her fingers brushing over a hard metallic surface. She smiled triumphantly and picked it up between her fingers.

“Yeah, I’ve got it!”

She proudly held it up for display and he nodded.

“Great. Now I’m going to need you to pick the lock.”

She stared at him blankly and lowered her hand before realising what side of the room she was on. She was in the cell that they normally put Draco in—the one he always found a way to unlock.

“But I don’t know how to do that without my wand!”

He rolled his eyes. “What kind of Curse-Breaker are you?”

“One that doesn’t pick locks like some petty Muggle thief!”

He waved her off. “Whatever, it’s fine. I’ll walk you through it.”

Ginny had discovered a lot of surprising things about Draco in the last twelve days she’d spent together with him. She’d learnt that he smoked too much, he drank too much and he actually had a sense of humour—albeit it was somewhat dry and dark. He was resilient and resourceful and braver than he’d admit. The one thing he wasn’t, though, was a patient instructor.

He raised his voice more than once, called her an idiot one too many times and made her want to gnaw through the bars with her teeth after only an hour’s instruction. Finally, after some exhaustive trial and error, the lock made that clicking sound that was absolute music to her ears. She gasped as the cell door swung open, and did a little dance as she stepped out.

“I did it!”

She spun around in circles, pumping her fists, and Draco couldn’t help but smile.

“Congratulations. I’ll bake you a cake later,” he said. “It’s time for phase two.”

Ginny stopped dancing and took a deep breath, nodding seriously. She closed the door and walked over to Draco’s cell, handing him the metal pin.

“Here.”

He gave it a cursory look before slipping it into his pocket. “There’s no time for that. We have to get the guard to come inside here so that he’ll unlock the outside door.”

“How do you normally do that?”

“See that two-by-four beside the door?”

He pointed to the piece of wood and Ginny glanced at him incredulously.

“You want me to _hit_ him?”

“You’ll need him unconscious to escape anyway.”

Ginny walked over to the door and picked up the piece of wood. It was heavy, but light enough for her to wield it like a weapon. It _was_ a weapon.

When an anxious look stole over her face, Draco’s voice softened, “It won’t take much force if you hit him behind the head.” He touched the back of his own head to show her. “Right here, near the base of the skull.”

She paused before nodding curtly. “Okay.”

“When you’re ready, scream for help and then hide behind the door,” he instructed. “When the guard comes inside, he’ll head to your cell first. When you see the back of his head, swing heavily but not wildly. Think of it like a Beater swinging at a Bludger.”

Ginny nodded and took another deep breath before getting behind the door. She held the piece of wood up high, like a bat. When she shrieked for the guard, it only took him a few seconds to rush inside. Like Draco predicted, he went straight for Ginny’s empty cell first, leaving his back exposed.

She stepped out and squared off, cocking the bat back like the twins had taught her. She imagined the guard’s head was a Bludger and she swung. There was a loud crack and the man dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Ginny kept a hold on the makeshift bat, just in case he got back up. When he didn’t, she cautiously approached his prone form and dropped to her knees, letting the two-by-four fall out of her hands with a clatter. When she began searching through his pockets, Draco hissed at her.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m looking for the key to your cell.”

“Forget about me and go!”

Like lightning on a sunny day, Ginny couldn’t understand his request. “What?”

“I said, go!”

“No.” She jumped to her feet. “No, I’m not going to leave here without you. All the way, remember?”

Draco shook his head. “Even if I went with you, I’d only be in your way. Everyone here wants me dead, but not you. They _like_ you. You’re the only one who can go up against Higgins. You can’t let him win; you have to get the anchor.”

“But I—what if something happens?” She wrapped her fingers around the bars of his cell. “What if I can’t make it back in time? What if... What if I can’t take you with me?”

“Then find another way and come back for me.” He overlapped her fingers with his. The spaces in the bar were just wide enough that he could fit his head through, and he rested his forehead against hers. “I have faith in you, Ginny.”

Ginny bit her lip and shook her head to stop herself from crying. “You’re such an idiot.”

“No I’m not.” Draco smiled, sliding a hand out between the bars to cup the back of her neck. “But just in case I don’t make it to wherever you’re going...”

Then he captured her lips in a kiss.

Ginny was too stunned to react at first; plus the position was more than a little awkward. But then she felt his lips move against hers. They were so soft and warm and pliable, nudging hers to part. She eventually closed her eyes obeyed.

It was a gentle kiss, sweet and longing. Or maybe she was just longing for it, for him. His fingers traced along her jaw and she sighed into his mouth. He was a musician, all deft and gentle fingers on her strings. There was music in him and now in her; he transcribed it against her skin, her lips, as if she was something fleeting and fleeing from his embrace.

She wasn’t sure who drew away first, but her eyes were still closed when she felt his lips leave hers; her mouth was still parted and swollen. When she finally opened her eyes, he was staring at her intently, as if he was trying to memorise her face.

“Now get out of here,” he said, motioning to the door. “Go.”

Ginny slowly stepped away.

“I’ll come back for you.”

He nodded. “I know you will.”

After that Ginny didn’t think; she just ran. She couldn’t think about what she was doing, that she was leaving Draco behind.

When she finally made it to the ballroom, she was shocked to find it deserted. Except for Higgins, who was stacking chairs by the stage.

“Where is everyone?” she asked.

Higgins exhaled an irritated sigh at the sight of her and stood up straight. “I asked them to leave. Apparently I should have asked them all to guard your cell.” He scowled. “You’re always squeezing your way out of messes, aren’t you? Like a little weasel.”

He took a step towards her and she shifted away between the tables. Without her wand, she couldn’t take him head on. He was bigger and stronger than she was. She couldn’t just rush him. She had to be smart about this.

“Where’s your better half, Ginevra?” Higgins looked past her for Draco and saw that they were alone. The corners of his lip curled into a smirk. “Left him behind, did you?”

“You never mind about him.”

“Ooh, touchy.” He feigned offence. “You know, you don’t have a wand, Ginevra. You can’t beat me.”

“I don’t need a wand to _beat_ you,” she said. “I just need to get to the anchor before you do.”

A flicker of panic crossed Higgins’s features then and Ginny’s eyes narrowed with dangerous intent. Like a lioness crouching low in the tall grass, she surveyed her prey, waiting for him to make a mistake. Without fail, he betrayed himself. His dark green eyes swept upwards and she followed them to the albatross hanging above the stage.

The anchor.

Higgins’s gaze swung back to Ginny and he knew; he knew that _she_ knew. He had already stacked a pile of chairs beneath the damn thing. He was so close. She would never make it to it in time.

When he bolted for the chairs, Ginny lifted off the balls of feet and broke into a sprint. Neither one got far before the ship suddenly heaved, tilting at a dangerously steep level. Everything started sliding to the right and Ginny managed to catch the edge of a bolted-down table while Higgins went tumbling into the band.

Well, this was new.

The ship began to slowly shift upright again with a groan and everything started sliding back to the other side of the room. The golden albatross went with it, falling down with a loud clang.

Higgins and Ginny were still rooted to their spots, still brutally held down by gravity. But the ship was already evening out and soon they’d be able to stand up again. When it happened, both scrambled to their feet.

Higgins was closer, but Ginny was faster.

Hand outstretched, Higgins’s mouth widened into a triumphant grin as he roared, “With my crossbow I shot the—”

“Albatross!” Ginny cried as she dove.

Both grabbed a wing as the lower deck exploded with wood and fire. Gravity disappeared. The blast lifted them both in the air, but Ginny could feel the anchor tugging her forward by the navel, sucking her inside.

It was a Portkey.

A second later, Ginny and Higgins left the Princess Anne.

* * *

Ginny woke up face-down on a beach.

The wind was caressing her skin, carrying with it the salty tang of the ocean. She could hear the roar of the waves behind her, crashing against the rocks. Seagulls cawed nearby, screeching as they fought for leftovers on the sandy beach.

She rolled over onto her back with a groan and opened her eyes, staring up and a bright blue sky. The sun was warm as it bathed her face with a golden glow. She breathed deeply and sighed.

Despite the warmth, Ginny felt heavy and damp. She held up her arm and saw that she was wearing her robes, the sleeves soaked through with salt water. Testing her body, she sat up, wincing with pain. She felt stiff and bruised, probably due to the tumble she had on the ship before catching a ride home with the albatross.

 _The albatross_. She was out of the painting!

Ginny’s body came alive then and she jumped to her feet, ignoring the shooting pain in her limbs. She fumbled for her wand and her fingers found purchase on the thin stretch of wood. She smiled before brandishing it and spun around, her eyes scanning the beach and moss-laden cliffs for signs of Higgins. She found no one.

She was alone.

Relaxing her guard, Ginny inhaled another deep breath of salty air and gazed out at the scene before her. The blue-green waters licked at the dark shore with frothy cataracts of foam, receding back into the ocean only to be churned and devoured and released back onto the shore again.

It was breath-taking.

However, when Ginny’s gaze went beyond the shoreline, following the endless stretch of ocean, her heart suddenly felt heavy. She was finally out of the painting, but Draco wasn’t. She had left him back on the Princess Anne.

Swallowing back her guilt, Ginny decided the first thing she needed to do was discover where she was and then find a way home. She glanced to her right where the beach ended with cliffs. On her left was a hilly area with what looked to be a house in the far distance.

She turned left and began walking along the beach towards the house. As she drew closer, she noticed another person walking towards her. It was an old woman in yellow dress. She was leisurely strolling towards the redhead; wisps of her long white hair had come undone from her bun and were caught high in the breeze.

“Another lost soul,” she said to Ginny as the two met.

“Pardon me?”

“I saw you wash up on the shore earlier,” the woman said. “You appeared out of nowhere. No boat in sight. What brought you here? You certainly weren’t taking a swim in _that_.”

She pointed to Ginny’s soggy robes and the redhead floundered.

“Oh, well, I—”

“Nice twig you’ve got there.” She pointed to Ginny’s wand before taking out her own. “I have one, too.”

“Wait! You’re a witch?” Ginny asked, both relieved and confused.

The old woman nodded. “And you sound English. Tell me, is this a popular tourist spot for British wizards nowadays?”

Ginny frowned. “Excuse me?”

“You’re the second English wizard, or witch in your case, that I’ve found washed up on my beach in the last month.”

Ginny was suddenly on guard again. Had this woman seen Higgins?

“You saw another wizard? Where? Was it just a little while ago?”

The old woman looked at Ginny sceptically before shaking her head. “No, it was more than five weeks ago. The man was a bit loony, too. Your Ministry came here and picked him up.”

“Oh.” Ginny wasn’t sure whether to feel disappointed or relieved. “Do you know how I can get a hold of them—the Ministry, that is?”

“I have a fireplace,” the woman said. “It isn’t connected to the Floo Network across seas, but you can use it to make a fire-call and ask them for a Portkey. It’s what I had to do the last time. It’ll take a day for it to get here, but you can stay with me in the meantime.”

Ginny smiled, relief flooding her body. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome.”

The old woman, whose name was Cynthia Pike, took Ginny to her beach house where she directed the young witch to the fireplace. Ginny was able to get a hold of Bill at Shell Cottage. He was more than happy to see her.

“Where are Draco and Higgins?”

“Draco is still in the painting,” Ginny said, swallowing back the painful lump in her throat. “As for Higgins, I have no idea where he is. He left with me, but he wasn’t there when I woke up.”

“I see... Well, we can talk more about this when you get back home.”

“Speaking of which—can you send me a Portkey?”

Bill grinned. “Already on it. Tracey sent one to a... Mrs Pike?”

“But how did you know I’d be here with her?” Ginny asked.

“Well, Mrs Pike was the one who found Rogen, so Tracey and I took a gamble that she’d find you, too.”

“Good gamble,” Ginny said.

“Is there anything else?” Bill asked, and she paused.

“Yes... Do you still have the painting? Is it safe?”

“It’s being kept at the Ministry, why?”

“I need you to bring it to my room at the Leaky Cauldron tomorrow,” she said. “I’m going back for Draco.”

* * *

The Portkey had arrived that evening, and Ginny thanked Mrs Pike again for her hospitality before activating the device. She had made it to the Leaky Cauldron shortly before 10 PM. There she met with Bill, who had the painting with him.

The two exchanged hugs, glad to see one another, before Ginny hurried them up to her room.

“I hope you didn’t tell Mum that I’d be back in London by tonight,” she said, sticking her wand in her robes. “She’s going to kill me if she found out I didn’t come see her straight-away.”

“Your secret’s safe with me, little sister.”

Ginny smiled and took off her robes. They were still dirty from lying on the beach. She was about to throw them on her bed when Bill held out his hand and took them for her, hanging them on the coat rack near the door. He then picked up the painting and set it on her desk.

“So did you want to do this now?”

Ginny rubbed her hands together and nodded. “Yes. I’d like to get him out of there as soon as possible.” She smiled. “And now I know how.”

Bill returned her smile and pulled out his wand.

Ginny stood back and took a deep breath, waiting. Her mind was spinning, thinking about how Draco was alone right now. Was he disappointed when she didn’t come back for him right away? Did he hate her now?

She was so distracted with her thoughts that she hadn’t noticed the fire. Her eyes widened at the sight of the painting going up in flames and she screamed. Panicking, she reached for the nearest thing, her blanket, and began to douse the flames. But it was too late.

“NOOO!”

Ginny pulled away the blackened blanket. The painting was a charred smear on her desk, still hot and smoking. She glanced up at Bill with tears in her eyes.

“Why? What have you done?”

Her brother only smirked at her, and she grew scared.

“Bill?”

“You failed, Ginevra.”

Panic seized her like a vice, gripping her until she gasped, “Higgins!”

She dashed for her robes, to get her wand, but he had cast a Freezing Charm on her. She froze in place.

“Looking for this?” Higgins pulled her wand from out of his pocket and twirled it around. “A little sleight of hand magic I learnt from a Muggle.”

“I believe they call it pick-pocketing,” she said behind clenched teeth.

Higgins smiled then but it was no longer with Bill’s face. The effects of the Polyjuice Potion were wearing off, changing his hair from red to black and silver.

“You know, there was a Portkey on that beach. You didn’t have to trouble that old woman,” he said, working out his jaw as it moulded back into its original shape. “I waited to see if you’d spot it, but you didn’t. Then I overheard your discussion with your brother and thought I’d get the painting for you.”

“But how?”

“Went into the Ministry disguised as your brother, of course.” He ran a hand through his dark locks. “I’d nicked a hair off him during his interrogation. Sheds like a dog, that one. Must be the werewolf trait. As for the Polyjuice, I always have a batch of it on hand.” He patted his breast pocket with a wink. “Just in case.”

Higgins then glanced down at the burnt painting and shook his head with a dramatic sigh.

“Too bad about your boyfriend, though.” He set Ginny’s wand down on the table. “I’m afraid there’s no saving him now. It’s a pity, really.”

Ginny began to tremble. A terrible sadness swam through her veins like glass, as if being pumped by a hummingbird’s wings, hell-bent on destroying what was left of her heart.

“Why?” Her voice broke. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I can, Ginevra.” He smiled smugly. “Because I’m _better_ than you.”

Higgins Disapparated without warning, and Ginny was released from the charm. She fell to her knees in utter devastation. With the painting destroyed, the portal was inaccessible. Best-case scenario: Draco was dead. Worst-case scenario: he was doomed to die every day for eternity.

For the first time since Fred died, Ginny broke down and cried.

* * *


	8. the albatross did follow

It’s said that the albatross used to be an omen of fortune, until some idiot killed one simply because he could. Soaring through the salt-licked skies, the albatross would come upon a ship without warning; following it through the fog and mist, even when the sail was no longer marked in its sight.

For an albatross was the wind. It was its own taut longbow; the breeze its bowstring. When it unfurled its wings, it left gravity behind to the rest of us mere mortals. Bearing good fortune or ill, the albatross always followed. Always.

Because the albatross was _hope_.

* * *

**2 May 2008  
The Leaky Cauldron  
Ginny’s Room**

 

Bill found Ginny alone in her room the following morning, hunched over the charred remains of what he could only assume was the painting. Her hair and clothes were unkempt and she was muttering to herself, tracing blackened fingers over the destroyed canvas.

“There’s got to be another way,” she murmured.

“Ginny?”

She didn’t seem to hear him. Instead, her gaze remained fixed upon the painting. Bill repeated her name, louder this time, and she finally glanced up. Her eyes were glazed over. She looked lost. However, when the fog slowly lifted from her mind, her look of confusion quickly morphed into one of pure rage.

“Higgins!”

Ginny lifted her wand and blasted Bill with a spell. He was barely able to raise a shield in time to stop it from knocking him off his feet.

“Ginny, wait!” She lobbed another spell at him and he dodged it, feeling the door splinter from the force of the blast. “Ginny, it’s me, Bill!”

“Liar!”

She was about to throw another spell when he hit her with a Body Binding Curse. She managed to throw up a shield, but the curse clipped her shoulder, numbing her wand hand. The thin piece of wood slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor.

Ginny cursed, diving for the wand with her left hand, but Bill was faster. He reached her wand first, kicking it underneath her bed. She rushed at him then with an angry roar, tackling him to the ground with a force he didn’t even know she possessed. His head hit the floor and bounced, momentarily disorienting him.

His vision cleared in time to see Ginny straddled his chest, cocking back her left fist. He flicked his wand at her and sent her flying back into the wall. She hit it with a grunt and he rolled over, reaching for her wand under the bed.

Back on his feet, he warily approached his sister. “Ginny, it’s me, Bill.”

“You’re lying,” she groaned. She sat up, bracing herself on her left arm. The right arm was still frozen, dangling loosely at her side. “You’re Higgins.”

“No, I’m not.” Bill shook his head in frustration. “Here, let me prove it to you.”

He took her wand and placed it in her left hand, clamping his own hand around hers so that she couldn’t move it. Then he took his wand and touched it to Ginny’s. Their wand-tips glowed brightly, and Ginny’s eyes widened before snapping up to meet his.

“Bill?”

He nodded, letting out a sigh of relief, before dropping his arse down on the floor. After a moment, he collected himself and fixed Ginny’s arm, helping her up onto her bed.

“Ginny, what happened here?”

“Higgins, he—he came here. He had your face and he—” She swallowed tightly and whispered, “He destroyed the painting, Bill. I-I couldn’t stop him.”

Bill sighed. Higgins must have used a Polyjuice Potion, took the painting from the Ministry and tricked Ginny. Bill had planned to pick up Ginny this morning and take her to the Ministry to see the painting in a controlled environment, in order to avoid such an incident.

What happened to his overly cautious sister?

“So Draco’s—?”

“He’s fine!” Ginny snapped. “He’s going to be _fine_. There’s another way to get him out, Bill. There _has_ to be another way.”

“Ginny.”

“No!” She held up her hand to stop him. “Higgins wouldn’t leave things like this. He’d want to keep on torturing me.” She laughed a little too pitifully, a little too desperately. “He couldn’t end things this way.”

Bill nodded slowly. No one knew Higgins better than Ginny. He wanted to believe what she was saying was true, for her sake, but he also had to be realistic.

“Where’s Tracey?” she suddenly asked, and Bill frowned.

“She’s at home, why? Want me to call her?”

“N-no. I’ll go get her.”

Ginny stood up, going for her robes, and Bill went after her.

“Ginny, wait! You just got back. You need to rest, regain your strength and then we’ll regroup.”

She shrugged on her robes. “I can’t, Bill. I don’t have time for that.”

“Why not?”

“Because...” Her chin wobbled. “Because I told him I would come back for him.”

* * *

**6 May 2008  
Newgrange  
County Meath, Ireland**

 

Someone once said that hope was like a bird perched in the soul, singing a tune without end. Though the tune would sometimes falter, it always remained the same. Ginny’s hope would come to her in the form of a tomb: Newgrange.

The prehistoric burial mound was a massive grass-covered tomb, consisting of a long passage and a cross-shaped chamber with a corbelled roof. In the chamber were three recesses: basins containing the dead. Below them was a secret chamber, one no Muggle could excavate: a massive vault where Higgins’s grandfather kept his hidden stash.

It was Dark Artefacts galore.

Tracey had helped Ginny find it, thanks to the case of a missing Auror. She had got a hold of Dean Rogen’s extensive case files on Maxwell Higgins, which included a possible stash house underneath Newgrange.

Rogen’s notes on the wizard were meticulous, listing all the Dark Artefacts Higgins was assumed to have acquired or produced, including _The Princess Anne_. But what really caught Ginny’s interest was the item listed in the ledger next to the painting.

For here, in Higgins’s little hideaway, Ginny had found her stirring tune of hope: two empty easels belonging to _The Princess Anne_ and _The Albatross_.

* * *

**21 May 2008  
Wafer Bay  
Cocos Islands, Costa Rico**

 

It took Ginny more than two weeks to find Higgins. The wizard was like a shark, always on the move or else he’d die. However, thanks to Bill’s network, they were able to locate him on the Cocos Islands.

Ginny found him lounging on the beach at Wafer Bay with a drink in his hand.

“So have you found the treasure of Lima yet?”

Higgins lifted his sunglasses in surprise at the sight of the redhead before leering. “Soon. Did you want to join me, Ginevra?” He glanced around, finding his companions gone. “My assistants seem to have disappeared.”

“Yeah, that was my bad.” Ginny took out her wand and tapped it against her arm. “And you might not want to Disapparate anytime soon.”

“Anti-Apparition Spell?”

“That would be my doing,” Tracey said. The brunette joined them on the beach, throwing Higgins a feigned smile. “Bill’s taking care of your _men_.”

“Great,” Higgins drawled. “So the whole family’s here, then? Planning a vacation?”

“Planning something.”

Ginny took a threatening step forward and Higgins laughed.

“Let me guess: you’re here for revenge.”

“No.” She smiled. “I’m here for the location of painting’s twin: _The Albatross_.”

Higgins’s mocking expression quickly sobered.

“Clever girl,” he said slowly. “You always had a touch of Slytherin in you, Ginevra.” He leaned back in his chair and slipped his sunglasses back up his nose with a shrug. “But what on earth makes you think I’ll give you the painting?”

“Because if you do, I’ll let you go.” Ginny crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “But if you don’t, I’ll personally escort you straight to Azkaban... right after I set fire to your loot in Newgrange.”

The carefully crafted look of indifference slid off Higgins’s face in an instance, replaced with a mask of anger and fear.

“Fine!” He spat. “But how can you be so sure that I won’t double-cross you, Ginevra?”

“Because.” She turned her head and smiled up at Tracey, who had also withdrawn her wand. “You’ll be performing an Unbreakable Vow with me.”

Higgins went pale and Ginny’s smile turned predatory.

“So where to?”

* * *

**22 May 2008  
The Tomb of Qin Shi Huangdi  
Xi’an, China**

 

The sky darkened as the moon hid behind the mountainous clouds. The city of Xi’an was under siege with a deluge of rain, and the main pass to the necropolis was closed. Ginny and Higgins had to make their way there on foot, through a secret tunnel that was too narrow, dark and overgrown. But soon it came to an end and they surfaced in a forest, just outside the secret entrance linked to the mausoleum of Qin Shi Huangdi.

According to legends, the First Emperor of China was buried here alongside great treasures. The ceilings of the tomb were said to be laced with pearls and channels were dug in the ground with flowing mercury to represent the rivers of China. It was one of, if not _the_ deadliest tomb in the world, and it hadn’t yet been excavated—not even by wizards. Or so it was assumed. Yet Higgins had hidden the painting here, of all places. It was quite brilliant, when one thought about it objectively.

On the way there, Higgins had drawn Ginny a map, which she was able to verify with the Vow. She had worded the Vow in such a way that made Higgins incapable of lying about the painting’s whereabouts or purposely leading her into a trap. Still, the route was a dangerous one to take, taking several days to traverse safely. While the map could account for any visible booby-traps, there was no telling what other surprises would be in store for her down there.

“So how did you want to do this?” Higgins asked, and Ginny snorted.

“You think I’m taking you with me?”

“You’ll need a guide.”

“I have this map and my wand.” She held up both. “I don’t need you trying to circumvent the Vow and getting me killed.”

He smirked. “Ye of little faith, Ginevra.”

“Yeah, I’ve had about enough of this _Ginevra_ talk from you... Bill!”

Lights flashed as six wizards Apparated down like lightning, surrounding Ginny and Higgins in a protective circle. Tracey and Bill were with them, along with four Aurors, who quickly Disarmed and detained Higgins.

He turned on Ginny. “You said you wouldn’t turn me in!”

Ginny glanced over her shoulder at him and grinned. “I lied.”

She hadn’t really, not quite. She had never promised in her Vow that she wouldn’t turn him in; she had just promised that she wouldn’t personally escort him to Azkaban or burn his loot. In the end, that was only what he cared about, the treasure, so she had used his greed against him.

“That was genius with the Vow,” Tracey said. “Have you considered a career as a solicitor? They’d pay you better to close loopholes like that.”

“I’d rather not,” Ginny quipped. “I like my soul.”

Tracey laughed.

Bill joined them after Higgins was taken away, kicking and screaming. Her older brother’s expression was sombre. “Are you sure about doing this alone?”

Ginny nodded. “I am. It’s dangerous in there.”

“Which is all the more reason for you to not go alone,” he stressed.

“I’ve got a Portkey this time.” She patted her pocket. “I promise to use it if I run into trouble.”

Bill shared an uneasy look with Tracey, who merely shrugged. One couldn’t deter Ginny Weasley when she had her mind set. There was no reasoning with the stubborn.

“Fine,” he relented. “I’ll give you three days, then I’m coming after you.”

“Make it four,” she negotiated. “And I expect to see you waiting for me and Draco at St Lawrence.”

“I’ll be keeping an eye on the clock,” he said, pointing at his wrist, before folding his little sister into a hug. “Be careful, Ginny.”

“I will.”

Bill let go and Tracey stepped in for a hug.

“Be safe, Ginny.”

“You too.”

Ginny let go and waved Tracey and Bill off with a smile, urging them to go. When they finally left, she turned back to face the entrance of the tomb and took a deep breath. Squaring back her shoulders, she began the long march down the passage.

* * *

Time seemed to go by slowly here. Ginny had no idea how long she’d been in this tomb, walking, back-tracking, avoiding traps.

Blood streamed from a gash on her forehead, smearing her face red like tribal paint. She wiped it away from her eyes and kept going, her left leg dragging slightly behind the other. Her ankle was twisted, possibly sprained, and she was fairly certain that a few of her ribs were broken. Everything, including moving and blinking, was an arduous effort, but nothing could stop her now.

Her foot snagged on a rock and she pitched forward, hitting the ground hard. She almost considered lying there for a moment to catch her breath or bleed out, whichever came first, but then the thought of the pain Draco was enduring without her made hers seem trivial.

She gritted her teeth and pushed herself up onto her hands and knees. Gravel dug into her skin as she rose to her feet. She stumbled slightly, her left ankle refusing to support her weight, and a broken rib pierced her as she moved. She hissed in unbearable pain, holding back a whimper, and tentatively pressed a hand to her side.

She could heal herself now, but she had to keep moving. Her life now was like a game of Russian roulette. It could go one way or the other. But sometimes it was a necessity to gamble with one’s life; it kept the soul vigorous. It allowed one to take a very dangerous leap of faith.

Gripping her wand in her other hand, Ginny swallowed back a sob and determinedly limped towards her goal. More than anything she wanted scream, to curse everyone and everything. Love was like that sometimes, she found; a battle cry. And so this was her battle cry now. _He_ was what kept her going forward.

Because he was waiting for her.

* * *

**7 December 1941 (9:11 PM)  
SS Princess Anne  
The Albatross Ballroom**

 

Ninety-eight days.

Ninety-eight days Draco had spent on this damn ship; days spent dying, getting drunk, playing the piano, going insane. Ninety-eight days of hell. But the only days he truly felt were the last twenty-four.

Twenty-four days with her gone. Twenty-four days with her no longer in his life. They were hard days. Lonely days.

His fingers danced over the ivory keys, playing _My Foolish Heart_.

Sometimes he wondered if she had ever been there to begin with. Like the notes ringing from the piano he manipulated, had he simply composed her? A being formed without flesh or sinew; an image and a voice stolen from his childhood memories.

Was she only music?

The notes came together then, rising in a heart-breaking crescendo. Real or imagined—did it matter anymore? Sometimes love came without warning and you found yourself falling in love with the most unexpected person at the most unexpected time.

But wasn’t that love for him? Inopportune. Inaccessible. Unattainable.

The song ended with a flutter and his hands stilled on the keys. What did he play now? Did it matter? Was there a point anymore?

“Hey, are you just going to sit there?”

He glanced up and there she was, standing in the same place he’d first seen her; wearing the same dress with her hair coiffed in the same style. The only difference was that this time she was smiling at him.

Draco blinked at the heavenly visage before him. He didn’t know if she was real or if he had spun her from his imagination like the notes from his piano. However, in this very moment, he really didn’t give a damn. Instead, he smiled at her.

“What took you so long?”

 

**the end**


End file.
